Trapped
by Bimefl
Summary: Companion piece to Batman Ends?. What will happen with Crane and a bunch of kids including one intriguing 16 year old with a past worthy of a novel? Full summary inside. Rating may go up or it may not. Who knows? Now FINISHED!
1. Chapter 1

**Summery:** This is a continuation of sorts of my previous fic Batman Ends?. It's not necessary to read it to understand this one but it explains a part in the first chapter where Jonathon is thinking about the events. Anyways, this story is just a pet project of mine.

Dr. Jonathan Crane was hired to make Gotham safe for crime once more. In the process he disposes of both Batman and Rachel Dawes. Now he's left with keeping the cops out of the picture. Being the evil super genius he is he has already kidnapped several children of police officers for collateral, one of which is OC Christine Fellmen, a sixteen-year-old girl with a sad story and a determination for good. What will happen when the two butt heads as Crane finds himself going more insane? Read on!

**A.N.** Is it just me or could they not have found a better person than Cillian Murphy to play Jonathan Crane? And yeah, I know, another Jonathan Crane fic, but come on. Be honest. You know you read them all!

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She sat idly braiding her long black hair into many long strands. At the bottom of each she placed a small rubber band to hold it in place. Finishing all her hair she glanced up at the children in the room. They were asleep now, far away dreaming of ponies and rainbows, things far beyond the reality of their situation. She wished she could be as content as they were, as carefree. Unfortunately she knew too much to sleep peacefully where she was.

Arkham Asylum was what this hellhole was called. She found it funny how asylum could mean a safe place when Arkham was far from safe for any of its inhabitants. Sighing she realized that tonight would be sleepless, as had the last 5 days been. She hadn't eaten in at least that long either, not trusting a man such as Jonathan Crane to keep the food sanitary.

_Jonathan Crane._ The thought of his name brought an involuntary shudder of fear to her. Quietly standing she made her way to the bathroom so she wouldn't have to sit in the near dark of the room.

She stood in front of a sink and looked at her reflection in the cracked mirror. For lack of better word she looked like crap. Her eyes where baggy and her expression pained. At least her clothes were clean and her hair was brushed. Dr. Crane had been kind enough to allow their parents to send them any essentials. _I suppose that would make him a humanist in the eyes of Gotham, _she thought bitterly.

She turned on the water and let it run until it was warm. Cupping her hands she splashed the water on her face rubbing her eyes vigorously. Then she grabbed a paper towel from the counter and dried her face. Looking in the mirror she was startled to see another reflection there.

"Greg," she said quietly to the little boy there, turning around, "why aren't you in bed?"

The 8-year-old looked sleepily up at her and whispered, "I had a bad dream, Christine." His voice was full of fear so she knelt down and pulled him into a hug.

"Don't worry," she told him. "It was just a dream. It wasn't real." She pulled him back to look at his face.

"But it scared me," he whimpered back. A lone tear spilled from his eyes and trickled down his cheek.

"Everything will be fine," Christine said, laughing inside cynically at her words. She sat down and Greg sat on her lap. "Tell me about it." Her arms were around him holding him close.

"I was walking and then there was this field and I walked through it and then this scarecrow jumped out and started chasing me," he told her. "I tried to run away but I fell and then I woke up." Christine was silent at his story but after he was done she resumed calming him down.

"It's ok," she soothed. "If you get scared again come and get me but for now I think you can be brave enough to go back to sleep." She stood and carried the small boy.

"Will you sit with me?" he whispered.

She thought a moment before replying, "Of course." They were quiet as Christine picked her way over to Greg's cot near the door. Laying him down she sat next to him on the side of the door and waited for him to fall asleep. It wasn't long before she heard the telltale deep, rhythmic breaths that told her he was out cold. She stayed sitting by his side, refusing to fall asleep.

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Jonathan Crane also sat awake, but for far different reasons than Christine. He was settled comfortably in a chair in front of a panel of screens each displaying a different part of Arkham. One in particular caught his attention. Watching he saw Christine carrying Greg back to his bed and watch him fall asleep.

The girl was very interesting. In his plot that had both killed Rachel Dawes and Bruce Wayne Christine had played a vital role. Of course he knew she had helped Rachel escape from their room. In fact he had planned on it. He had even figured out how they would do it before even they knew. Using the medic was the only feasible plan to get her out and like clockwork it happened.

Rachel's timing could not have been more perfect. She had walked into the foyer just as Batman had. It had been a small matter to kill her. She'd always had a talent for getting on his nerves. Then, what a tragedy when Batman, feeling responsible for her death, had taken his own life. And thus Crane's plan had gone off without a hitch.

Pausing his thoughts Jonathan looked back at the screen. Christine was still awake and fighting to stay that way. He had noticed she had not eaten or slept since she arrived. Not surprising for a girl her age. She was sixteen, after all, and was setting her will against his. The match was not a smart one. He had the obvious advantage of being a psychiatrist and knowing as well as understanding how to manipulate people. Jonathan tended to work through people's fears to break them down. This girl would be no different.

He had taken her along with the other children to keep the police in his thrall. Nobody liked it when you kidnapped their youngest child and held them in an institute for the criminally insane. His plans to reopen Arkham would be set into motion soon now that Batman and the annoying Ms. Dawes were out of the way. No one else had proof enough to give reason why he shouldn't be allowed to. What a horrible thing that someone had used Arkham's abandoned basement to dump hallucinogens into the water supply. If only he had known! That was his excuse anyway. He doubted that anyone would question it.

Movement on one of the monitors caught Crane's eye and he leaned in to look. It appeared Christine was trying to shimmy open the window high above the sinks in the bathroom. He grinned at her ingenuity but had thought it would be obvious that even if she succeeded the window was 5 stories up. Apparently desperation had gotten to her after all. That had been too easy. Sighing he stood and proceeded to head up to see just what Christine was aiming at.

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Christine stood on a sink using a toy sword to try and pry open the window. She knew she couldn't get out but maybe if she could hang something out the window, like a doll or children's clothing, maybe someone would get suspicious. _Just a little more,_ she thought, using the windowsill to get leverage for the sword.

"You wouldn't be trying to escape, would you?" inquired a cool calculated voice from behind her. The voice inspired fear in Christine's heart and she fought with everything she had not to show it.

"Of course not," she replied. Turning around she jumped down and, straitening up, found herself face to face with Jonathan Crane. "I wouldn't do something that brash."

She was proud of herself for keeping her voice even despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

"I would hope not," came an equally smooth voice. His deep blue eyes bored into her chocolate ones. "Come with me." There was no question in the words so Christine followed silently as Crane led her out into the hallway, to the elevator, and into his office.

"Sit," he said taking his own seat on the far side of a highly organized desk. His whole office screamed informed. With a little hesitation Christine sat in the chair opposite of him. "Be honest now," he told her, "why were you trying to open the window?"

"Oh, you know," she said vaguely. "It gets so stuffy in this place and I thought a little ventilation might do us all some good." She met his eyes as though fearless and smiled.

Jonathan nearly laughed. She hid it well, no doubt, but there were small giveaways. The way her hands were folded in her lap, the slight downward tilt of her head, and the look down before into his eyes. All of these spoke of her fear. He contained most of his amusement, though, and settled for a small smile in response. "Very cute, Ms. Fellmen. I suppose it never dawned on you to think of a better lie." He grabbed a yellow legal pad sitting on his desk and a pen and proceeded to take notes. Pausing he looked up. "Why did you decide that it was worth the lives of 7 children to have your freedom?"

"I wasn't going to run away," she insisted. "I'm not stupid. That window was 5 stories up." She glared at a spot on the wall behind him. "And I would never leave anyone to die for me, especially children. They, unlike you, are innocent."

"Are they really?" he asked her. "Would it surprise you to learn that they are perfect informants?"

"I've done nothing worth tattling on, Dr. Crane." Christine was becoming frustrated with his reverse psychology.

"You haven't eaten anything nor slept in five days," he said critically. "I'd say that's something."

"So what if I don't have much of an appetite?" she snapped. Her hands were gripping the armrests now instead of being clasped nicely on her lap. "And not everyone needs as much sleep!" Jonathan grinned at her outburst.

"It's my experience that anger is a very good cover emotion. It can hide anything you want because it consumes." He took his glasses off and set them on the desk between them.

"Just what do you think I would want to hide from you?" she mocked. Deep down she knew, though, what he would say because it was true. She did not want him to know a weakness he could exploit. This didn't mean she wasn't angry. Not in the least.

"Fear, Christine." He looked her strait in the eyes and waited for a response. _She hides it well, _he thought. _Very well._

"I suppose now you will tell me what I'm afraid of?" She tilted her head to the side in a show of defiance and crossed her arms.

"That's very simple," he stated. "Me." They studied each other a moment and Christine was the first to look away.

"I have no reason to fear you," she said staring at the wall.

"Paranoia is a serious illness. The sufferers find themselves so debilitated by their fears that they can't function. They don't eat, they don't sleep." He paused. "Any of this sounding familiar?"

"I'm not paranoid! And I'm not afraid of you," she spat, standing and walking to the door. Finding it locked she turned around and was inches from Jonathan. He looked into her eyes, which now showed hints of fear, and pursed his lips, thinking.

_I can feel her fear. _The irrational side of his mind was taking over, and he knew it. There was a part of him that loved fear that would do anything to see it. He lovingly called it Scarecrow, the favorite taunt of his childhood tormentors. _What to do, what to do, _he pondered.

Christine could do nothing but stare into those deep blue eyes trying to guess what he would do next. She watched as his eyes traveled from her face and down her body. Memories flooded her mind, memories she's sworn had been erased or at least buried. In her mind she saw an alley and some guys. In her mind she heard their voices laughing. Stepping back to escape her back met the cool metal of the door and she was trapped.

"We all fear something," he whispered harshly. Grabbing her wrists he pressed his body against hers and enjoyed her squirming to get out.

"Stop it," she cried. "Let me go!" She struggled to free herself from the grip of this psycho but the more she struggled the more he seemed to enjoy it. He was stronger than he looked and it all fed into her memory.

"What do you fear, Christine?" Dr. Crane's voice was harsh and taunting. He pressed his body closer against her and she whimpered. He could feel the rational part of his brain begin to surface once more and Scarecrow fought it as long as he could. Both of them were enjoying this anyway.

"Please," she pleaded. "Stop." Her voice had faded to a dim whisper and twin tears spilled from her dark eyes. He stopped but held her wrists tight.

"Just answer the question," he told her, "and I will let you go to sleep."

Christine's eyes were downcast but her resolve had returned a bit. "I fear nothing. Not death nor life; pain nor tears. Nothing." Her lie was transparent but she didn't care. It was the only way she had to remind him he hadn't won.

He released her wrists but grabbed her chin with one hand forcing her to look into his eyes. With the other he wiped away the tears that had stained her pale cheeks. "Liar," he whispered. "Go back to the children. Doubtlessly they will be wondering where you are." He released her and turned away.

Christine tried the door again and to her relief found it open. Running out she found the elevator and returned to the room full of sleeping children. Laying in her cot all she could think was, _Great! Another sleepless night._


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N. **I've actually really enjoyed writing this so far. Nothing has had to be forced or anything so yeah. And a thank you to all of those who've reviewed. It's encouraging to know people actually read my stuff.

quicksilver2402004: Ok, here's more! Enjoy.

lily1186: Now now, I don't think I'll even say if there will be pairings. It would make it no fun if you knew. This way you just have to keep guessing.

FlyingFish15: Thank you! I think it's kinda creepy how well I can get inside a psycho's mind but oh well.

**Disclaimer **Yeah I forgot it the first chappi so here it is. I don't own Batman, Rachel Dawes, Gotham, or Arkham. And sighs I don't own Dr. Jonathan Crane. If anyone is selling him, though, I'd be willing to talk prices. J/K! Oh but I do own Christine and anyone else otherwise not mentioned in the Batman comics or movies.

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After lying awake all night on her cot, Christine was wracked with fatigue in the morning. This would be going on six days with no sleep. Soon her body wouldn't wait for her approval before tuning out. Standing shakily she made her way over to the only other soul awake in the room: Lucy. Lucy was a 7-year-old with a sweet smile and bright eyes. Her energy never seemed low to Christine.

"Good morning Lucy," she greeted the girl. Her voice was soft to allow the others more sleep.

"'Morning Christi," Lucy whispered back loudly. The girl stretched her arms and sat up throwing off the blanket she had slept under.

"Did you sleep well?" Christine began to lift the girl up to carry her over by the door where they wouldn't disturb as many kids.

"Yeah, I slept good." Christine smiled at the bright girl's poor grammar. "Did you?" Lucy asked upon being set down.

"Very well, yes," she lied in response. Her face told a different story.

"You look so tired," Lucy managed between yawns.

"That's because it's still early." Since coming to Arkham Christi had found it all too easy to lie to children. Dr. Crane was another matter. He saw strait through all of her falsehoods. Thinking of him sent her standing strait up and wrapping her arms around herself. Last night's encounter was still fresh in her mind. Too fresh. It had forced her to remember a time in her life she had tried so desperately to erase. It was burned into her memory, though. All it took was a trigger and she was back in that alley, begging and pleading.

A new noise caught Christine's attention. It appeared her movements had stirred those who had been feigning sleep to get up and join Lucy by the toys. Turning she saw Greg and several others making their way over. Christine stood by and watched the kids play after greeting them.

Not long after all of the children had awoken the door clattered open to reveal an old man pushing the food cart. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit, which labeled him a patient. Behind him walked Dr. Crane with his usual yellow legal pad and a small smile for the little ones. Christine froze as they locked eyes but found the presence of mind to begin passing out food trays when the old man left. As usual she left hers untouched on the cart.

As a few kids called out greeting to Dr. Jon, as they called him, Christine shoved down a gag. He politely responded and asked them how they were; scribbling notes, but his mind wasn't on it. His thoughts focused on the girl passing out food. She carefully avoided his gaze but Jonathan knew Christine clearly remembered last night. True, he had lost control, but he couldn't say he regretted it. Her fear was priceless.

Noting there was one tray left he made his way to where Christine was watching over the children like a mother hen. She stood leaning against the wall looking down at them. "Not hungry?" he casually asked standing next to her. She jumped at the intrusion but maintained her mask well as not to alarm the kids.

"No," she said shortly. After a pause she added, "But I have a question." She'd spent some time thinking about whether or not it was worth even asking.

"I may or may not have an answer," Crane quipped.

Rolling her eyes Christine went on, proud of herself for not showing how uncomfortable she was with him standing so close or how angry she was at him overall. "Some of the kids have been asking if they can go outside."

"I see," he mused, tapping his pen against his lower lip. "It's only natural. Young children need sunlight and space to run around." The chatter between the kids seemed to grow louder in their silence. "I'll consider it," he told her sounding very pompous.

"Thank you," Christine forced out between gritted teeth.

"But," Jonathan continued, "only if you agree to start eating and sleeping." He grinned at the look on her face, knowing he'd win this battle. Of course she would put the children before herself. It was just her personality.

"I don't see how the two actions are related," she said slightly distraught.

"They have nothing to do with each other, Ms. Fellmen."  
"This is ridiculous," she stated throwing her hands in the air. Crane grinned wider, his blue eyes flashing.

"Last chance," he said. Christine weighed the risks. _None of the kids have gotten sick from the food,_ she thought. _And it will make them happy. But then again Jonathan Crane has given me no reason at all to trust him while I'm asleep. _She sighed looking away.

"Fine." With that she marched to the food cart, picked up the last tray, and sat down cross-legged with a determined grimace. She took a forkful of what could have been scrambled eggs or pig guts and shoved it in her mouth, swallowing quickly. Grabbing the carton of milk she checked the expiration date before opening it and drinking. Christine glanced up at Crane and saw him bidding a few kids goodbye and shooting her a triumphant look before leaving.

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_That went well,_ Jonathan thought sat back in his office chair. The girl was smart not to trust him but he saw that lack of trust as fear. She was afraid he would do something therefore she didn't trust him. He bent over his notepad, pen scratching.

Patient has agreed to eat and sleep again Nervous behavior has increased 

Jonathan moved on to make notes about the other children. They all seemed to be having nightmares about scarecrows. Grinning he thought, _I wonder why._ Of course he knew. His experiments with the hallucinogen were proving especially successful with the children. Not only were they fearful under the influence of it but also they developed a phobia of whatever they were exposed to while under its influence. It was a fascinating result that he hoped to duplicate in older patients. Christine Fellmen was likely to be his next test case although he had some reservations.

She was a smart kid, smarter than most her age, much as he had been at her age. When he tested the children they no doubt thought they had been dreaming about going up to his office and then seeing the horrifying mask. When they awoke safe and sound on his couch they simply rubbed their eyes and acted as though they did not remember ever walking up there. Christine would probably be able to figure out that she had not fallen asleep in his office. Then she would deduce that she had been drugged and that all the things she had witnessed while on the drug were not completely true thus the phobia would not develop. _It will still be interesting to see how she reacts to the hallucinogen, _he thought.

With that decided Jonathan wondered just how he could allow the children to go outside without letting the entire city of Gotham know he was keeping children at Arkham. He figured he would take them outside the city to some park. They would need to drive at least an hour, though, to find one not often used by the public. Remembering a park he had visited as a child he thought it might work. It was in the middle of nowhere and because of that was never used. The county kept it well maintained for some unknown reason. Next came the problem of how to get all 9 of the children plus himself there. He would need an extra large van and one car seat for the 3 year old.

The easy part would be keeping them from running away. The park was miles from the nearest house and none of the children had reason to run away. That is except Christine. She would be kept under control by a simple threat.

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Sighing Christine slammed her tray down onto the cart after eating everything on it. A few kids jumped at the noise and she mumbled an apology. _The nerve,_ she thought angrily. Crane had known she would do anything to make those kids happy. He used her sympathy as a weakness and exploited it. The food had been gross, as expected, but that was not why she was so worked up.

"Okay," she said loudly to be heard over the squealing. "Time to get dressed." There was a collective moan but Christine ignored it and walked over to the younger kids who needed to be dressed personally: Alice and Mike. Grabbing the two of them up she carried them to their cots, which were next to each other, and set them down, pulling out the bags underneath. She pulled out some clothes for each and proceeded to dress them while keeping an eye on the older kids. They had all taken showers the night before so they were clean. Begrudgingly they hauled out clothes and went into the bathroom stalls to change. After this she would supervise teeth and hair brushing.

The first morning they were here, Christine had taken up this responsibility. If she was going to be stuck in here she was at least going to keep busy with something. Finishing up dressing the little kids she carried them to the bathroom to brush their teeth and hair. Of course they protested but she persisted until satisfied. The two upon being released ran out to play with the toys. Christine stayed in the bathroom until she was sure everyone was dressed and ready for another day of doing nothing.

Then she herself grabbed some clothes and grabbed the shower she hadn't taken last night. Coming out clean and dressed from behind the plastic curtain she went over to the sink to finish up. Once done, she admired herself in the mirror. Her gauzy skirt hung loosely down to her ankles and went well with her airy blue shirt and long braid. It was cool in the room so after putting her stuff away under her cot she threw on a poncho over everything.

Fatigue gripped Christine's body and she decided, as per her agreement with Dr. Crane, that she would get some sleep. With the children awake as witnesses she figured she would be safe, for now at least.

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Walking down the hallway towards the room full of children Dr. Crane paused to push up his glasses, which were constantly falling down his nose. He unlocked the door and walked in to tell the children what would doubtlessly excite them.

"Dr. Jon," Greg cried running up to him, "look what I can do!" The child proceeded to shove his entire closed fist into his mouth.

"Charming, Gregory," he commented. "Everyone, I have a surprise for you." His voice carried easily over the din and the voices stopped, all eyes fixed on him, except for Christine's, which were still closed in sleep. "We're going for a ride." There was an instant uproar as the children abandoned their toys and rushed towards him. "Follow the men outside the door and they will take you to the van." They obeyed him without hesitation, the older ones grabbing the younger ones by the hand and dragging them along.

Jonathan let them pass by before making his way to the cot in the back corner, which was still occupied by a sleeping Christine. A few wisps of hair had come un-tucked from her braid and were shading her closed eyes. Gently, almost lovingly, he brushed them back with his free hand. Unexpectedly she awoke immediately and grabbed his wrist before she was fully conscious. Opening her eyes and realizing whose wrist she was holding she released it and sat up.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded in a still sleepy voice. She swung her feet down and Jonathan stepped back to allow her room to stand. When she did they were face to face and Christine sidestepped him towards the door so she wouldn't be trapped again. Jonathan merely grinned at her obvious fear.

"We're going out," he told her, trying to walk around her to the door. In response she simply stepped back again blocking his path. "The children are waiting." He was getting impatient despite loving her reaction.

"Oh," she said breathlessly. She stepped backwards so she could keep him in her sight.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he teased, slipping into Scarecrow too smoothly.

"Said the insane psychiatric doctor," she remarked, still walking backwards. He matched her every step.  
"You would know all about psychiatric doctors, wouldn't you?" Christine stopped walking and stared at him.

"Yes. Yes I would." Her voice was strained, her mind full of memories. She turned and walked through the open door deciding it wasn't worth arguing with Dr. Crane about her past.

_Score: Scarecrow 2; Christine 0. _Jonathan grinned at his alter ego's joke, but still took control again and stopped tormenting the girl. He followed her out and called out one last time. "Wait, there's something you need to know." Against her better judgment Christine stopped and turned to look at Crane who was catching up.

Once they were even he looked her strait in the eyes. "If you even think about running away," he whispered, "I will show you just how much med school teaches you about the human anatomy." He let his remark be interpreted as Christine wished.


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N. **It's me again, your lo-vel-lee authorette. Anyways, yes the story continues. Thanks again to reviewers. It's really encouraging to know someone reads my story, although if you didn't I'd probably still write them. I right more for myself than anyone else.

Anywho, just a little warning. This chapter does mention suicide, self-injury, and SDS, more commonly multiple personality disorder. These are serious issues and I do not by any means intend to make light of them. Having struggled with 2/3 of them I can tell you from expirience that if you're struggling with them, you should get help. SDS doesn't usually go away by itself, and thoughts of suicide and self-injury tend to intensify with time. Please don't make light of any mental, emotional, or personality disorders.

Enjoy!

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Christine sat fuming in the back seat between Mike in his car seat and Lucy, who was constantly poking her and asking questions. _What the hell was that supposed to mean? _she thought angrily. Crane's previous remark could be interpreted many ways, none of which were very pleasant.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Lucy asking, "Why is the sky blue?" Christine sighed but decided to piss the child off with an honest answer.

"The sky is not really blue," she said. "It only appears that color because the blue wavelength of sun light is most affected by diffusion through nitrogen and oxygen molecules in the atmosphere, causing the air around the light to appear blue." She smirked triumphant at the child's confused look and then mentally smacked herself. The whole van was silent and staring at her, that is of course except Jonathan, who was driving.

"What I meant to say was," she fumbled, "the sky is blue because God made it that way." The kids all resumed talking and although she couldn't see she was sure Dr. Crane would be grinning at that.

He was, of course. _The girl sure knows how to handle kids, _he thought. They had been driving for about an hour and the park would be coming up soon. The day was bright and sunny forcing him to squint so he wouldn't miss the very small sign announcing the park's existence and location. Seeing it he turned down the dirt driveway and parked on the grass.

The children's faces were pressed against the windows to stare in wonder at their new paradise. All that they saw was the typical park equipment: a couple slides, a merry-go-round, some teeter-totters, and a jungle gym but it must have seemed marvelous after being locked inside for almost a week. As soon as one of them figured out how to open the doors they poured out and attacked the poor playground.

Christine took Mike out of his car seat and set him on the ground to run after the big kids. Standing she took a moment to stare in wonder at how blissful ignorance really was. _They have no idea,_ she mused. _No idea._ She decided she couldn't just stand there all day and proceeded to push the merry-go-round for the screaming kids on it.

Jonathan came slowly out of the van, carrying a bag full of his papers. He spread them out on a picnic table in the shade and continued taking notes as though they had never left the Asylum.

_Mike: Well developed for a 3-year-old_

_Good motor skills and coordination _

He watched silently as Mike allowed himself to be picked up and swung around by Christine. The child's shrill laughter carried well through the park.

His attention turned from Mike to Greg, the 8-year-old boy with an amazing grasp of the world around him. He was picking up bugs and watching them crawl on his hand. Unlike most boys his age he was playing with the bugs, not torturing them.

_Greg: Kind natured and inquisitive_

Suddenly a small girl ran up to him, jumping on top of his papers. It was Emily, the most rambunctious 6-year-old girl he had ever met. "Come on, Dr. Jon!" she cried. "We're going to play hide and seek!" Her pleading eyes looked right into his and her pout was so perfect he thought he might play just on that merit. Looking around he saw the other kids gathered in a circle around Christine, who was laying down rules. A few saw Emily by him and came running over to join in the begging.

"I'm sorry, but I have work to do," he sternly told them. Apparently it wasn't enough to convince them to give up. They grabbed his hands and pulled as hard as they could.

"Puhleeze!" they shouted almost in unison. Sighing Jonathan knew he would get no work done with them bothering him like this. His eyes caught Christine's and when he saw the displeasure on her face his mind was made.

"Oh all right," he caved, in a very unlike Dr. Crane manner. "But only one game!" His own voice reminded him of an older brother. The thought brought revulsion to him but he decided it might also prove beneficial. The more the children liked him the easier it would be for them to trust him. The more they trusted him the more he could exploit that trust.

Standing he allowed himself to be tugged over to where Christine was standing with the rest of the kids. She looked as though she had just tasted a bad apple.

"Alright," she said with authority. "The rules are this. You can only hide with one other person, so pick a buddy." The children paired off as though by some guiding force. Jonathan was left alone. "You can only hide in places where you can still see the van. That doesn't mean that you can't hide behind or under something. Just that if you stood next to that thing could you still see the van." There was an excited silence as she continued. "When you are found I have to tag you before I can say I found you, ok? So if I see you, you can try and run away. Any questions?" When no one said anything she told them, "I'm going to count to 50, alright? Now go hide!"

The children scattered in all directions, each holding a buddy's hand. Jonathan was more calculating with his hiding spot. He figured he would go into the patch of trees on the far side of the playground. They afforded enough shelter to remain unseen.

"35…36…37," she droned on and on. Just when she was getting hypnotized by her own voice she called out, "49…50! Ready or not here I come!" She opened her eyes and ran around in circles, pretending not to see any arms or legs sticking out nor hear any giggles or whispers.

"Gee I wonder where all the kids have gone to," she shouted. Slowly she made her way over to the most obvious spot, behind the van. To her surprise she found no one hiding there. "Not over here, I guess." She went on with her noisy narration until she found the first pair hiding in the tube slide. They were wedged in pretty well and needed a hand out. It was Emily and Lucy. The two squealed with delight at being found and tagged. Obediently they went over and sat next to the van.

Christine searched around for a while longer until she had found everyone. Everyone that is except Dr. Crane. She twirled in a circle, skirt flaring out, looking for where he might be. Spotting the cluster of tall, dark trees in the corner she made out for them at a sprint. "Hmm, now where is Dr. Jon," she mocked loudly and the kids all giggled from over by the van. As she drew nearer their chattering faded to a dull whisper on the wind. She could barely hear it by the time she entered the trees.

There was an eerie silence as her footsteps crunched the dry leaves. "Dr. Crane," she called out, startled by how loud her voice was. She jumped and turned at the sound of a twig snapping and couldn't see her way out of the trees, which had appeared a small cluster before. Behind her another twig snapped and she turned just in time to get a faceful of blue gas. She choked and gagged for a moment before raising her eyes to see what had done that.

What met her was the gruesome face of a scarecrow with maggots crawling everywhere. Backing up slowly she found it hard to focus on anything. Everything around her looked menacing. Christine turned and ran only to trip on a root sticking up from the ground. Flipping over she saw the scarecrow standing over her. It reached down as though to grab her but she was too fast. She kicked up with her leg, banking on the fact that it was a male. To her delight she was correct, and she ran screaming from the woods.

The children rushed out to meet her in the middle of the playground but to her they looked like the devil's minions. They had claws and sharp teeth. Turning around she ran strait into somebody's arms and they closed around her. A soft voice that sounded so familiar whispered, "Calm down. It's ok. Just take deep breaths to clear your system." Along with oxygen Christine inhaled the scent of cologne. It was musky and sweet, mixed with what could have been cinnamon. Before long she blacked out.

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Dr. Crane set the unconscious girl down in the shade under the tree by the picnic table. It had taken her much less time to pass out than it had the children, a result he had not anticipated. Despite that the hallucinogen appeared to work the same. Out of the controlled environment of his office he thought it more likely that she would develop a phobia, although he still had his doubts.

Sitting down he waved the children back to playing and resumed his notes. An uncomforable pain reminded him to be more careful next ime he drugged Christine. It was one o'clock before he stopped. Packing up his briefcase he figured they should probably eat lunch. The children would definitely be hungry after all of that playing. From the back of the van he brought out a large bag full of brown paper bag lunches. _The perks of having a building full of people to put to use that no one will believe. _He set it on the ground and the kids swarmed.

Jonathan paused on his way past Christine. She showed signs of coming to. Her fingers twitched occasionally and her breathing was normal. He knelt down to take her pulse so he could make note of that. It was normal as well, although his actions seemed to stir Christine. She sighed and rubbed her eyes while mumbling, "What happened?" Dr. Crane thought it wise to answer before she opened her eyes.

"You tripped and received a mild concussion," he lied easily, having thought it up before. He watched as she opened her eyes, saw his face, and frowned.

"And why is it that for the second time today I have the displeasure of awakening to your face?" she groaned. Sitting up she put her hands to her head and felt for a bump. She couldn't find one. And she had perfect memory up until being gassed. _What was that crap?_ she wondered.

"Just your luck I suppose," he answered, still kneeling next to her. Christine barely managing to sit up on her own let alone stand.

"I didn't bump my head," she told him. Her eyes were as cool as his when they met. Jonathan pretended to be confused.

"Of course you did," he assured her. Greg glanced over and saw Christine sitting up.

"Christi," he yelled, running over. He was followed by a small mob. They all knelt down next to her and began talking at once.

"You went over there-"

" –And then we couldn't see you-"

"-But we heard you scream-"

"-So we came over-"

"-But you ran away from us-"

"-And Dr. Jon stopped you from falling-"

"-But you passed out anyway-"

"-And now you're awake again." She smiled at their enthusiasm but not at the story they told. Try as she may she could not remember anything that happened after she was sprayed with the gas. The one thing she did know, though, was that she had not hit her head. Storing it in her memory she turned to the kids and smiled.

"I'm fine now, so don't worry," she softly said. Satisfied with her answer the kids ran away to play some more.

Jonathan stood and offered a hand up to Christine. Ignoring it she managed to stand up but almost fell back down. Had it not been for an arm around her waist she would have. Pushing it away she stared at Jonathan for a moment.

"Don't ever," she whispered in a low, contained voice, "do that again." His touch brought raw emotions about last night to the surface, as well as unneeded memories once again.

"Would you rather have fallen," he teased menacingly. His gaze held curiosity, not a threat. Christine felt as though he was analyzing her for a weakness as a patient. _He probably is,_ she thought cynically.

"Yes." With that she turned away and went to play with the kids. Jonathan returned to his notes.

_Christine: Shows signs of past abuse, which was 3 years ago_

_Responded with hostility and fear to physical touch_

It was no mystery to him why she acted the way she did. Not only had he harassed her last night but also, when she was 13 Christine had been raped. This brought on a depression so deep that she had struggled with self-injury and then had taken her father's blood thinners for weeks before slitting her wrists. Found lying in her bathtub she was taken to the minimum-security wing at Arkham, which now was closed. For weeks she'd stayed there, refusing to talk to anyone. Finally after heavy dosing with antidepressants, she opened up and told her story. It had taken her a year and a half to get off of the drugs but now that she was she still had flashbacks. It was not uncommon for those who had suffered severe trauma to do so. Besides that, though, she was back to being herself again.

Glancing at his watch Jonathan saw that it was already 3 P.M. Gathering his papers he called out as loud as he could while still maintaining a cool voice, "Time to go." Predictably the children moaned and complained, but eventually were herded back into the van by Christine, who avoided Dr. Crane's eyes. When at last all the children were in she sighed at seeing the only available seat was next to Jonathan in the front. Gritting her teeth she hopped in and slammed the door.

"Are we all buckled in?" she asked turning around to check on the kids. Most had already fallen asleep, amazingly, and she allowed herself a small smile. Settling in herself, she was displeased to find Dr. Crane wanted to talk.

"Is your head feeling fine?" he questioned, eyes on the road.

"Yes," she said, "but I didn't hit my head and we both know it." She glanced at his emotionless face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, voice down.

"I think you do. I was drugged, Crane, and you were the one who did it." Her voice was calm but her face was anything but. It was angry, even enraged.

"And what if I did drug you, Ms. Fellmen." His voice matched Christine's in calmness but his face cracked the shadow of a grin. "What are you going to do about it? Who are you going to tell? There is no one in Gotham who would believe you but you can't even get a message to them." Jonathan brushed his hair back off of his forehead.

"I will find a way to stop you," she told him. And she meant it, too. If it was the last thing Christine ever did she would have her revenge on Dr. Crane. Not just for herself, but for everyone.

"Remember, I hold not only your life in my hands but also the lives of 7 innocent children." He paused glancing at her. "I'll let you take your pick. Which would you rather have harmed?" His eyes held an icy glare and he could feel Scarecrow trying to come out again. He could taste her fear in the air, something breathing and alive. He wanted, no needed more of it. _Not now,_ he told him. Jonathan needed to stay here, just to show himself he could, to show himself he wasn't out of control.

"You already know my choice," Christine spat.

Jonathan felt himself lose it, felt his humanity slip away. "Well then, perhaps you should stay in line." He reached over to grab her arm. "I would hate to have to cut into that pretty skin," Scarecrow whispered, still driving. "But you've already done that for me, haven't you?"

"Shut up," she whispered. She looked away yanking her arm away and crossing it over the other one. She didn't like to talk about her past. To Christine it was like a big shadow looming over her. Others told her to learn form it, but she loathed it.

Scarecrow let Jonathan take control again, having gotten his fix. In control once more Jonathan tried to fix some of the damage done. He meant to scare the girl, not turn her against him. "I'm sorry," he said, voice emotionless once more. "That was inappropriate."

Christine appeared to ignored his remark but took it into consideration. He seemed like two separate people sometimes. One was evil and calculating while the other was cruel and ruthless. _I guess jobs like his attract the insane. Like me,_ she added belatedly. She had enough problems without adding Jonathan's severe dissociative disorder to the list.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Yes well, sorry it took so long. I've been busy having lots of fun and getting ready for my big vacation to the other side of the world. Don't worry, I will have computer access so you won't be left hanging for 3 weeks. Anyways, thanks as always to my loyal reveiwers. I appriciate the encouragement to continue and I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

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Tearing flesh. That was the sound he heard as he awoke from another nightmare. Had he been an innocent man he would not have known it, but as it was, Jonathan Crane was not innocent in the least.

Sitting up in his bed he rubbed his eyes trying to remember just what it was he had dreamed. There had been a crowd of… children. Yes that was it. He had been in the middle, cowering as he always had done when he was small. They had taunted him, cursed him, but this time something was different. This time instead of running away he put on the mask and became Scarecrow. Blood, there had been blood as well. Jonathan consciously slowed his breathing realizing he couldn't remember anymore.

He stood and walked to the bathroom. Switching on the light he stared at himself for a long moment in the mirror. His hair was disheveled as usual and there was a thin sheet of cold sweat covering his body. Jonathan knew what was happening to himself. He wasn't a stupid man. Perhaps he was only too smart for his own good.

_Genius and insanity, _he scoffed. _What better combination for a city such as this?_

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Christine opened her eyes suddenly, an image burned onto her retinas. It was a scarecrow crawling with maggots and ripping open at the seams. She ran a hand over her head again to be sure for the thousandth time that there was no bump there. Sighing she turned over onto her back and stared at the unyielding ceiling.

Several days had passed since she last had a private conversation with Dr. Crane. That was the one thing she was thankful for. Christine knew her number would be up soon enough, though. It was just a matter of time before he would decide she was becoming too comfortable in Arkham.

If there was one thing Christine had never done at Arkham it was become comfortable. In her mind's eye she remembered waking up for the first time there. She had been 13, only three years ago but it seemed like an eternity. Her arms and legs were strapped down and she was in a hospital gown. The room had of course been bleach white, as had the hospital bed sheets. In fact the only spot of color Christine remembered was the warning sign posted in bright red next to her bed on the wall. _5-Minute Checks._ It meant she wasn't to be left alone for more than five minutes.

Wrenching herself from memories she looked around the room. Most of the children were awake and playing by the door. She stayed quiet so they wouldn't notice she was awake. Alone time was somewhat at a premium when you shared common sleeping quarters with 8 young children. _Oh great,_ she thought as a small ball of energy came running her way.

"Christi!" shouted the energy ball. "You're up!" The child pounced onto Christine's stomach and knocked the air out of her.

"Yes, Charlie, I am," she managed after reclaiming her breath. She sat up and tickled his tender stomach, eliciting squeals of mirth. The other children all saw and wanted a turn as well so after making sure every child had his or her tickle quota for the day Christine stood up and stretched just in time to greet the food cart and, with it, Dr. Crane. She let her arms drop to cover her stomach.

While the kids ran to say hi to Dr. Jon, Christine threw on a sweatshirt over her tank top. Turning she walked over to the food cart to pass out trays but saw that Jonathan had begun doing that instead. Shrugging it off she grabbed her own off the cart, avoiding his eyes as usual, and settled against the wall to eat the slop on her tray. Her eyes scanned the group as they talked in higher and higher pitched voices.

A shadow fell across her tray and she looked up to see none other than Crane looking down at her. "What do you want?" she scowled. Christine was in no mood to deal with him so early in the morning.

"I just thought I'd let you be the first to know that Gregory is going home today," he told her, kneeling down so they were closer to eye level.

"What do you mean?" Her voice was almost as confused as the look on her face.

"Someone's father has behaved himself and I feel confident to release my collateral." He grinned. "Some plans always work." Christine tried very hard not to show how upset she was by this, but failed miserably.

"That's very nice," she spat. "So when do the rest of us get to leave?" Her hopes weren't high for herself but the kids truly needed to get out of here.

"That all depends on how well your parent's cooperate," Jonathan replied, drawing out each word. "Some like Lucy may well leave tomorrow. But then there are the chronic do-gooders." He looked into her eyes accusingly. "I don't suppose you know any of them." Of course she did. Her father was one of the major proponents for cleaning up Gotham's police force. There was no way she would ever get out of this place.

"Well," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "we both know how much I just love this place." Lowering her voice she added, "He won't bend to you, Dr. Crane. You are just a lying, evil, scheming sack of-"

"Think twice before finishing that sentence, Ms. Fellmen." Every word brought Scarecrow closer to the surface. Now his eyes held a danger that Christine had seen before. _Not again,_ she thought. "You wouldn't like the consequences, although I have been meaning to show you the effects of certain pharmaceuticals I've been researching." He sighed. "I do love to hear screams." With that he stood and went to chat idly with the younger kids.

Noting how quickly he changed face Christine began to wonder if he really did have SDD. The changes in his personality tended to come when he was frightening someone. Perhaps that was the trigger: fear. If Jonathan did lose control and slip into his other personality what would he do then? Alone with a small, ignored conscience he was bad enough but with another voice to guide him, to aid his already expansive knowledge of the human psyche, Dr. Crane was a formidable foe for any of Gotham's citizens. There was one thing Christine was sure of: the longer she was here the more danger she was in.

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Jonathan sat at his desk, looking over the results of his latest test. He had been attempting to use a drug, which enhanced the power of suggestion, turning someone into a mindless drone. The results weren't as promising as he had hoped. For some of his test subjects the effect was total. They bent to every whim he had. Others had simply become non-responsive. Still others seemed to be unchanged by the drug.

Sighing he set aside the papers and pulled out a yellow legal pad. Dating the top right-hand corner he began scrawling notes furiously.

_Personality changes becoming more frequent and uncontrollable_

_Psychiatric drugs yielding no change in symptoms_

_Trigger appears to be invoking or seeing fear in others_

His notes continued along those lines for a page or two before he was interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. Tossing the notepad aside he called out, "Come in."

At his invite a short, balding man in a gray suit came in. He carried a worn briefcase and a heavy look. Seating himself opposite Crane he pulled out a packet of papers.

"Mr. Eng," Jonathan greeted the man. He had been wondering why he had not come sooner. "I assume that the paperwork is all in order?"

Mr. Eng took a moment to shuffle the papers before saying, "Yes, yes, of course. Once you sign this Arkham Asylum will be open once more to house the criminally insane. As per your request the city will not seek the reopening of the minimum-security ward, which has already been closed for some time now." He placed a single sheet in front of Jonathan for signing.

"No surprises?" Jonathan asked pen poised to sign.

"No, Dr. Crane. None at all." Jonathan promptly signed the paper at the bottom and Mr. Eng snatched it up again. "Now you are aware that you will be in high demand for criminal cases once more?" Mr. Eng asked, as though warning him.

Jonathan grinned. "Yes, Mr. Eng. In fact," he added, "I've been counting on it." The two men shook hands and Jonathan found himself once more alone.

Now that he was going to be receiving more patients, he wasn't worried anymore about finding new test subjects for his hallucinogens. Christine had proved an interesting study of adolescents but she was not what he would call average. Her reactions were more of a case study than an example of good results.

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No one noticed when the door opened. The children and Christine were busy engaging in an all out pillow fight with their shouts drowning out any other sound. It wasn't until a small boy named Anthony, or Tony to his friends, stopped and shouted, "Dr. Jon!" that all heads turned that way and Jonathan found himself assaulted with pillows.

He stood stock still a moment before coping a look so annoyed and disgusted that Christine could not help it when she burst out laughing. Noticing this Jonathan quickly regain some semblance of control over the energetic bunch.

"Stop now," he told them, voice so devoid of fun that the children immediately snapped to attention. Christine bit her lip to keep from laughing. "I'm sorry to say that Gregory will be leaving for a," he paused searching for a word to explain it, "vacation."

"What's that?" asked Tony, being only 4 and not understanding.

Greg took it upon himself to explain. "It's this thing where you go and have fun for a long time with your family!" He was so gleeful he couldn't contain it and the excitement spread like wildfire. There were ringing shouts of "But I wanna go too!" and the ever popular "That's not fair!" Jonathan looked even more peeved if that was possible. Christine took it upon herself to end the chaos.

"I'm sure you'll all get a turn but because Greg is older than the rest of you he gets to go first," she calmly told them, lying through her teeth.

"But aren't you older than he is?" Emily asked. She had been one of the louder complainers.

"Yes but I'm not a kid like you guys are and kids get special things." Christine was almost bothered by just how easily the lies had spun themselves. Nonetheless the children took her at her word and resumed playing.

"Come along, Gregory," Jonathan continued as though uninterrupted. "Grab your things." Christine went silently to help him with that, all the while whispering instructions. The noise of the others kept her words a secret.

Once finished Greg shouldered his cartoon backpack and Christine gave him one final hug, slipping a folded paper into his back pocket as she did so. She was careful so Crane wouldn't see the movement. "Have fun," she whispered, winking.

"I will," he told her, winking back. With that he followed Crane out of the room. While holding the door open for Greg, Jonathan looked back at Christine. Her expression was angry but her eyes held a glimmer of hope. Suspicious, he had Greg's bag searched before he released him back to his father. Finding nothing he dismissed the notion that Christine had a reason to hope.

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Somewhere across town, out of the Narrows, Greg was settling back into his own room. His father sat watching him silently, thanking anyone who was listening for bringing his boy back safely.

He hadn't wanted to listen to Crane. When he became a police officer his intentions were to do something good for once instead of always doing what he was told but in Gotham that was near to impossible. He had been standing up for right up until his son went missing. The thought of anything happening to Gregory was enough to bring him to his knees, literally and figuratively.

He stood up and went to his son to give him another hug. "Daddy," he heard whispered in his ear, "I have something for you." Pulling apart he saw Greg holding out a crumpled piece of paper.

"What's this?" he asked, curious. Unfolding it he saw it was a note, short but to the point.

"My friend told me it was very important that you got it," Greg said in a conspiratory tone. As the man read what was written, he quite agreed.

_Sir,_

_My name is Christine Fellmen. I am 17 and the only daughter of Michael Fellmen, a fellow police officer. There are 7 others here, too. Crane is holding us for insurance. Please do something soon, or I don't know if 8 more will come out like your son._

_-Christine_

_Michael Miller, 3 Emily Jones, 6 Charles Thompson, 6_

_Lucy Brandon, 7 Anthony Stewart, 5_

_Alice Walker, 4 Justin Ashton, 7_


	5. Chapter 5

**A.N.** Sorry it took so long to update but this week has been super busy. First it was getting ready for my vacation and now I'm on vacation. Actually I'm updating from my dad's work in Bangalore, India. It's really intersting here but for more on that see my LJ. Anyways, thanks for all the reviews as usual. I think I'm gonna try and move this story to the Batman Begins category if I can figure out how so... Enjoy!

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Christine sat, eyes closed, on the lid of a toilet in one off the bathroom stalls. It had been a day and a half since Greg had left. She was hoping against hope that her note had escaped Dr. Crane's notice and reached its destination. Logic told her that if it had been caught she would have heard about it by now. On the other hand Jonathan did have a way of messing with her mind.

Sighing she decided she should probably go back into the room with the children. Christine made a show of flushing the toilet and washing her hands for the camera mounted by the door. She pulled open the door and saw with shock that the children were quiet. They sat staring at Lucy who was reading them a book. Christine sat against the far wall and watched as Lucy carefully showed the pictures after reading a page.

"I would not eat them here or there," she enunciated with inflection. "I would not eat them anywhere." Silently Christine mouthed the words of her favorite Dr. Seuss book. "I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam I Am."

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"And," the defense attorney continued, "in your professional opinion, was Mr. Ty responsible for his actions that night?" He looked intently at his witness.

"No," came the reply. "Mr. Ty could have no more prevented his reactions than could a diabetic keep their blood sugar regular by sheer will power." The witness leaned back from the microphone and glanced at the defendant with mock sympathy.

"Thank you, Dr. Crane." The attorney looked to the judge. "No further questions, you Honor."

Not an hour later a mob burst out of the courtroom, led by the defendant and his lawyer. "We're just happy that now Mr. Ty can get the help he needs," was the only comment the reporters received. The pair brushed by them to where Jonathan Crane stood with several Arkham employees.

"I can't thank you enough," the attorney whispered.

"Don't worry about it," Crane replied. "He'll be safe now." He watched as his employees led the man away to a waiting van and followed, getting in the passenger seat.

It had only been a day or so since Arkham officially reopened. Of course previous to that the city had used to house those who had escaped from there. Despite the short amount of time Jonathan already found himself bombarded with requests for his expertise. Not that he minded the fresh test subjects, but he found it ironic that one day he was the villain and the next he was the hero. _That's Gotham for you,_ he thought.

So far all his assumptions about Gotham had been true. They ignored his constant declaring insane the criminals of the city, they ignored all of the facts proving his guilt, and they were all too pliable under pressure. Yet another one of Gotham's finest had broken under threats against his child. After one-week good behavior it was time for Daddy to get his little darling home. It was all too easy for Jonathan to get what he wanted. He needed a challenge.

Luckily he found one in Michael Fellman. The man refused to do anything Crane wanted. In fact he did the exact opposite. When Crane asked him to change the police report concerning the missing persons report on his daughter, Christine, he double checked it and added details. Michael was told not to file a report in the first place, but he had done it anyway. When Crane asked him to make sure there was no trouble with and incoming shipment of experimental medications Mr. Fellman had made sure the boat carrying them was searched by the federal police, a slightly less obliging crowd. The only reason he had not stormed Arkham Asylum yet was because Jonathan had Christine. Crane humored the rest of Michael's whims, to a point, but if he ever came near Arkham Christine would end up hurt, something he told himself he wouldn't enjoy.

_Christine,_ he mused. What a piece of work she was. After one of their previous conversations Jonathan had dug up the old file from when she had been admitted for attempted suicide. The file told about how her depression had onset after her rape. It was made worse by the fact that she had no "Mother" figure in her life seeing as her mother had been murdered when she was nine. Jonathan studied the memos and notes trying to find some sort of advantage but the girl he kidnapped was not that same girl who had slit her wrists. Christine had grown up a lot and became stronger instead of weaker from her experience. _All the more fun to play with, _he grinned.

The van had arrived at Arkham so Dr. Crane followed his newest patient in and veared off to his office. He had an appointment to make with a certain young woman.

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Alice sat and played with one of her dolls quietly. Everyonce in awhile she would mummer something to it and expect a response that didn't come. With a great deal of show she brushed it's brown yarn hair with her hands and then gave it to Christine.

"Why thank you, Alice," Christine grinned at the girl. She held the doll to her chest and looked around the room as Alice went back to playing. The girl was the sweetest thing Christine had ever seen. She was so nice to everyone and she shared well. It would be a shame when she had to leave them, although it was what was best for her.

Sometime in the afternoon the door to their prison opened and in walked Dr. Crane. Christine did all she could to ignore him but her singled her out.

"Ms. Fellman," he called over the children's greetings to him, "would you come here please?" She sighed not wanting to cause a scene in front of the kids. Standing she made her way across the sea of toys to where he stood by the door.

"What do you want?" she asked annoyed. Her arms were crossed across her chest and her hip stuck out in defiance.

"Now, now," he mock scolded in an all too friendly tone. "I would just like to talk."

"I'm busy," she lied. Jonathan looked arouond her at the children who were all keeping themselves occupied.

"Lying doesn't become you," he told her. He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "I don't want to be forced to compell you." Christine glanced away but silently gave in. Crane looked smug as she followed him out of the room.

After walking for a while in silence Jonathan spoke up. "Greg is home safe now," he told her, as though to piss her off. It didn't work.

"That's good. He needed to get out of this place." She kept match with his pace while walking although he seemed determined to keep her one step behind him.

"Alice will be next." There was a brief pause in which Christine looked at him in shock.

"Oh," she managed, surprised. "When will this be?" She sure would miss that girl.

"Tonight, before dinner." They stopped at the elevator to wait for it. "Some parents learn faster than others," he said with a hint of darkness in his tone. They stepped into the elevator and Christine leaned against the wall farthest from Crane.

"Are you implying something?" Her voice held anger.

"Only that I doubt certain people will ever see just how deeply I can hurt them." He paused and looked at her pointedly. "Unless, of course, I show them." Christine supposed she should be used to his threats by now but she wasn't. The only thing she could do was pray her fear did not show on her face or else she knew it would bring out the worst in him.

Once the elevator stopped she followed Crane out and into his office, not taking the offered seat but rather crashing on the couch. Crane eyed her but said nothing, grabbed his notepad off his desk, and sat opposite her in an over-stuffed chair. He crossed his legs and clicked his pen to write.

"We haven't really spoken in awhile," he stated. "How are you feeling?" Rolling her eyes Christine gave her standard issue answer.

"Oh just peachy," she replied sarcastically. "Never better."

Crane ignored her comment and continued. "I see you have been sleeping and eating again. Any changes you've noticed in mood?"

"Loads of changes," she continued with the same tone. "I find myself using my time prodictively, feeling better about myself, and overall just loving my position in life!" Her smile was almost too demented for even Dr. Crane to bear. He pulled off his glasses and set them on the armrest.

"Ms. Fellman, allow me to be honest."

"Oh please do," she cut in. "It would be the first time in history." By now she was leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.

"I do not want to hurt you." Christine let out a laugh. "However I will if you don't start cooperating." His voice was dark and he could feel himself slipping.

"Really, now," she nearly shouted, standing up. "You would hurt poor defenseless little me?" She paced over to the window and looked out over the Narrows. She was beyond pissed off at this point. Furious wouldn't begin to cover it and she had no idea why she was so angry all of the sudden. Perhaps she had reached her breaking point. "Why don't you allow me to be honest," she told him turning around.

"By all means," Jonathan replied, standing as well and walking to his desk. In her anger Christine did not see what he had picked up.

"I am not going to play by your rules. I will not let you control my life." She was gesturing frantically, upset with the world. "And in case you haven't noticed, my father will not do as you tell him. He is a good man, something you will never understand!" She took a few measured steps towards Crane who was standing by his desk, hands in his pockets. "Why hold me any longer? Your plan will not work!" She was about a foot away from him when she stopped. They stared at each other a moment before Crane spoke.

"You are right," he said with a quiet determination. "Your father will not do as I tell him. He is a _good_ man." He took a step towards Christine so they were face to face, although she did have to look up at him. "What you fail to see is that I do not care. I will have what I want and I will do whatever I must to get it." His eyes were fixed on hers in a dangerous stare although he felt completely in controll of his actions.

"And what?" Christine spat, her anger giving her boldness. "Am I supposed to be afraid now? Should I beg you not to hurt me or the children?"

"It might be a wise idea although it would not change my actions," he replied evenly. Before she could do anything about it Jonathan grabbed her wrist it a tight grip. With his other hand he showed her what he had grabbed off the desk: a knife. Christine hit him with her free hand as hard as she could but he only held her wrist tighter. Pressing the knife against the palm of her hand he said, "Stop." That was all it took. She stopped fighting and locked eyes with him.

"Well," she asked with a calm voice, "are you going to do it or not?" There was a moment when she thought he would back down, give up but no, not Dr. Crane. He pressed down the knife so that it almost drew blood. While he was focused on that Christine drew back her other hand and slapped him hard across the face causing him to loosen his grip momentarily. She wrenched her wrist out of his grasp and tried for the door. Unfortunately for her Crane was faster. He reached out and caught the back of her shirt and the sudden stop made her fall. Before she could get up Jonathan had flipped her onto her back and sat straddling her waist, pinning her arms with his hands.

"I'm not one for physical violence," he whispered harshly in her ear. "I'd much rather drive you crazy. In your case, however, I'm willing to make an exception." Christine could hardly breath and her heart was racing out of her chest. She looked up in abject terror at Jonathan's face. His eyes held the danger she had seen before.

"Don't," she whispered, pleading. A sudden image came flashing before her eyes. A face, a voice, a laugh. "Please."

As though reading her mind he let out a low chuckle. "That's right," Scarecrow mused aloud. "You're proned to flashbacks." His grin was sickening and even he knew it. _Just a little more,_ Scarecrow begged Jonathan. _Don't tell me this isn't fun. _Beneath the exterior Jonathan sat quiet, knowing what was thought was true. It was fun and he did enjoy it, somewhat. Still, something told him that perhaps threats were not the way to control this girl. Perhaps a different tactic was to be employed.

Christine lay quiet and still not knowing what he would do next. She hated this man with all of her strength.

Scarecrow watched the girl's eyes. Her fear, so obvious, was so sweet to him. It clouded his mind, filled his senses. He wanted more, so much more. He shuffled her wrists so that one hand held both of them and reached out to grab the knife which had fallen on the floor.

"Someone needs to learn a lesson," he told her, voice crazed. With the tip of the knife he raised her shirt to expose her stomach. He pressed the blade down so she could feel the sharpness on her tender skin. Christine let out a soft cry and looked away. Once more using the knife he gently tipped her head to look at him. "Can't you see it?" he asked with amusement. "You belong to me and you will do what I tell you, as will your father." He carefully cut into her stomach, slowly drawing the blade. She bit her lip to keep from screaming as she felt each agonizing movement of the knife.

After a minute he was done. Blood poured and stained her clothes but Scarecrow simply stood and smiled, licking clean the blade. Christine curled up on the floor and sobbed, wishing once more that she could die instead if continueing to live this life. She put her hands to her stomach to stop some of the blood.

Slowly Scarecrow faded and Crane took controll once more. He stared at what he had done, unbelieving. Scaring her was fine but this? How could he have done this? Cautiously he made his way over to Christine and crouched beside her. He reached out his hand to brush her hair away from her face but in response she pulled away farther and refused to look at him.

"I'm," he began, but couldn't finish. This girl had done nothing to deserve this and he knew it. He was losing control. He tried to speak to her again. "I didn't mean to," but his words failed once more. Sighing he ran his hands through his hair. "It wasn't me," he told her.

Bitter she replied, "Of course not. The blood is only on your lips." Her eyes met his and Jonathan saw the mess left there.

"You don't understand," he said weakly sitting down cross-legged.

"Oh no, I do." She sat up feebly and sat hugging her knees, the blood form her stomach soaking her pants. "You have multipersonality disorder, also known as severe dissociative disorder. It's usually brought on by some traumatic event. So tell me, Dr. Crane," she mocked, "what's wrong with your life?" He grinned at her knowledge but there was no joy there.

"I do not have to tell you, but," he continued when he saw her open his mouth, "I will." He chose his next words wisely. "Accidentally I was dosed with a hallucinogen. Normally it would wear off but this particular dosage was far above normal. It changed the way my mind works." He sighed watching the girl's reaction.

Chrisitne sat and stared at him. "Nice excuse," she commented. "Just how am I supposed to deal with you mutilating me?" Her frustration was clear.

"I do not know," he told her. "That is your problem." Standing he offered her a hand. As usual she ignored it and slowly managed to push herself up. "Come with me," he told her. "We need to bandage that or else it won't heal properly." Christine just shook her head and followed him out the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Well vacations been nice but my best friend's dad died last Friday so anyways, that's my reason for not updating sooner. Thanks again for all the reviews. I'm not too sure I'm happy with the way this chapter turned out. It doesn't quite portray Jonathan like I usually do so let me know if you like it. I may edit and change parts later so... Anyways just enjoy the chappie!

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Christine was sitting on a metal examination table watching Dr. Crane shuffle around his medical supplies to find what he needed. Her breathing was still shaky and erratic but it was calm compared to her thoughts. She wasn't sure whether she should stab Jonathan in the back and run or feel serry for him. The latter option seemed the more ludicrous of the two. Why should she feel sorry for him because he drugged himself with a probably illegal drug? No she shouldn't. Stabbing him in the back sounded good. It would definitely satisfy her need for revenge. On the rational side she had no weapons to stab him with.

"Here," Jonathan broke into her thoughts. "This should numb you while I do the stitches." He was holding a syringe in his gloved hand. Previously he had removed his suit coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

"Stitches?" Christine asked with doubt. "Is that really necessary?" First of all she had no desire to have something drawn back and forth through her skin. Secondly she wasn't about to trust Dr. Crane to be honest about any pharmacudicals he gave her.

"Yes. Without them the wound won't close properly and will continue to bleed. It's also more likely you will get and infection if you don't get them." His voice was patient as though he was dealing with a child.

"And how do I know this isn't just another sadistic ploy?" The tone of her question may have been sarcastic but her face showed that Christine expected an answer. Crane nearly rolled his eyes but caught himself before such a juvenile response.

"You don't know," he told her. "All you can do is trust me." Christine laughed out loud when he said this.

"Right, trust you. The same guy who just gave me these injuries is asking me to trust him to treat them properly. And I suppose I'll just have to trust that what's in the syringe is actually localized anesthetic." She hugged the rag she held to her stomach tighter. "No thanks."

"Look," Jonathan said angry, "I've given you an explanation. Take it for what it's worth but if you don't let me treat this wound it will give you even more problems." Deciding she had no choice in the end anyway Christine sighed and moved the rag. Beneath was her bloody t-shirt covering the cuts on her stomach. Crane cleared his throat.

"What?" Christine asked. She lifted up the shirt to expose her stomach and looked with facination as he gave her the shot. The girl had never been squemish around blood or needles however she had enough experience with stitches to not get excited.

Jonathan meanwhile went to grab some gauze pads and disinfectant to clean the wounds. He worked for awhile and to Christine's credit she didn't wince as the cleaning stung her or as Dr. Crane's cool hands touched her. Much progress was made but the blood on the shirt kept dripping down and making the wound messy again.

Jonathan paused and looked up at Christine who had been watching his progress carefully. Their eyes met for a moment before he spoke. "Um, it might help if." He was having a hard time putting this delicately so Christine would not get upset with him. Unfortunately she wasn't getting the point.

"If what?" she asked annoyed. Jonathan chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment to think. He thought perhaps being more specific might help.

"The blood," he began, "that the shirt soaked up is making it difficult to clean the wound." For the first time since Christine had met him Dr. Crane seemed nervous.

"Oh," was all she said. _What's the point? _she wondered.

In frustration to the girl's sudden bout of cluelessness he decided to be very direct. "I need you to take your shirt off." The silence could have been measured had anyone had the sense to do so. Christine shot Jonathan a look which would have killed him had he not been prepared for it. She opened her mouth to speak but somehow the words just didn't seem appropriate. Shaking her head she rolled her eyes. Below the surface Scarecrow still watched and longed to exploit this apparent distrust. "You can put a clean one on after I'm done but I'm not going to get this cleaned if it's still on." Again the silence set in. Turning Jonathan grabbed a towel out of one of the innumerable drawers. "Here, you can cover yourself with this if you don't feel comfortable." Christine took it and Jonathan turned so he was facing the sink. Unfortunately there was a small mirror there.

Oblivious Christine turned her back to him and carefully slid her bloody shirt over her head. Some of the blood smeared onto her face but she was beyond caring at this point. Jonathan watched as she wrapped the towel around her chest, although he could only see the back. Something in him kept his eyes glued to the girl in the mirror and he scolded himself for it. He hated being reminded that in the end he was only a man.

"Done," Christine called out with scorn. Her glare said anything that she could have come up with.

"Thank you," Jonathan said, carefully avoiding looking up from her stomach, pretending not to notice the way her left bra strap had fallen off her shoulder. He returned to cleaning her wounds and then he was done he saw what Scarecrow had done. His face showed the distaste so uncharacteristically that Christine took notice.

Looking down she too saw what had shocked him and winced. There glaring in beads of red were the letters _SC_. "SC," she mused. "Does that mean anything to you?" His moments hesition told her that whatever he said would be a lie. Usually he was so good at lying. _Why the change?_

"No," he calmly told her. One glance at her eyes told him she knew he was lying.

This time Christine took advantage of the situation. Leaning forward she whispered, face to face with Jonathan, "Liar." He caught the reference and turned to grab sutures off of the counter.

Ripping open the packaging he took it out and told her, "Lay back." Happy with her little victory of disturbing Crane, Christine obeyed. She propped her head up with her bloody hands so she could watch with morbid curiousity. One by one she watched as Jonathan stuck the curved needle through the edges of her wounds and tied the dissolvable thread off.

Jonathan pretended to be intently focused on his work but his thoughts were elsewhere. Tonight he had lost control more so than on any occasion previous. This illness was intensifying with time and every time he lapsed Christine just happened to be there. Something about the girl was triggering him. Perhaps her fear? The way she tried to hide it instead of just playing victim.

And here she lay, so falsely trusting. They both knew she was only putting on this act to keep Jonathan's less friendly (imagine that) side at bay. Christine was wise to do so. Had she not she would have found herself in a very compromising posistion, shirtless, injured, and on her back.

"There," Jonathan said. "I need to wrap this around. Can you sit?" Christine did so, carefully holding up the towel to cover herself. Jonathan took the roll of gauze and told Christine, "Hold the gauze pad in place." She did so and gently he took the roll in one hand and reached the other around Christine to grab it. For a moment they were dangerously close but soon it passed and Jonathan tied off the ends. "Ok."

"I still need clean clothes," she said looking at him standing there. Observing her lack of shirt and bloody pants he nodded.

"Right." Jonathan had forgotten. Given the choice he would have made her walk back as she was but his more rational side told him that would be a poor move. "I'll bring your bag, and you should probably clean up as well." Taking stock of herself, bloody hands and smears, she agreed.

"I take it I can't get this wet for awhile," she stated.

"Correct. You'll just have to sponge bathe. I could have an aide help you."

"No," she told him. "I'm not crippled." Then as an afterthought she added, "Yet." Who knew what may happen next time Jonathan's other side decided to show up.

"I really am sorry about that," he apologized. For once he was totally honest. With that he left to send someone for her stuff. He waited outside and once they came back he left for the safety of his office.

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Something was terrbily wrong with him. Jonathan knew that much, but for all his genius he could not figure out what. Yes he was suffering from SDD however none of the typical treatments were working. This was probably due to the fact that his disorder was not organic in nature but rather had been brought on by an outside chemical. If only he could figure out a way to reverse the drug's effects maybe then his symptoms would disapate. Maybe.

The only problem was he had already been immunized to the toxin which was introduced into his system. He had made sure of that just in case there were any accidents. Only the dosage which he recieved had guaranteed any reaction at all. Try as he might Jonathan could not come up with another way to cure himself.

He sat at home in one of his favored arm chairs pouring over test results and medical journals that he had read before. Perhaps he had missed something, something crucial. His breakthrough may be lying in that one paragraph he had only skimmed or in the notes beneath some obscure fact. He couldn't give up. He wouldn't. That was not the way Jonathan Crane lived his life.

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Christine lay awake, breaking her promise to Crane that she would sleep. She had tried, really, but nothing had brought the elusive peace any closer. All she could do was stare up at the ceiling and think, always thinking. Often she wished that she could simply cease this action on command. This night her thoughts were very troubled.

This night was the fourteenth that she had been here. Two weeks. Already 3 of the children, Greg, Alice, and Lucy, had all gone home safe to their families. Christine had slipped them all notes saying basically the same thing but her last had been more desperate than before. So far her efforts had yeilded nothing in the way of help from the outside world. Pretty soon she would have to take matters into her own hands, not only for her sanity but also for her life.

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In a room across town three silent characters sat around a table, each one looking around to be sure they were alone. After what seemed like an eternity one of them spoke up, the one who had called them here.

"You know why I asked you here?" he stated more than asked. The other two nodded in response. "I waited this long because I wanted to be sure and as I predicted recently both of your youngest children have returned to school, correct?" When the two nodded again the man continued. "And you both received notes from them shortly before that." The two looked at each other before hesitantly nodding. They were afraid, very afraid, and that was why their children were now safe. "Well then, what are we to do?"

"Nothing," said the mother there. She had a wise look about her from raising 3 children in the Narrows. Her short blonde hair was pulled back in clips and her green eyes shone with tears. "We can do nothing."

"That's not true," the third one added. He was a young hot shot cop strait out of college. "We could do something."

"But what?" the mother asked in desperation. It was the first who answered.

"We fight this." His voice was old and determined despite his age of 35. "We get someone who can help us plan and then we go and make this right."

"Who?" the woman said. "Batman is dead. There is no other who could ever face down that man." There was a silence.

"There is one who would try," the young one said. The other two looked at him expectantly. "Fellman." After a night of discussion they all decided that perhaps it was time to network and find a way to get those kids out of Arkham.

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Christine woke with a start, not remembering falling asleep. She tried to sit up right away but the pain form her stomach shot through her body and made her cry out. The children, who were all awake, rushed over to her.

"What's wrong?" asked Emily. "Are you ok?" Her little eyes were full of concern. Such a sweet girl.

"No no, I'm fine," Christine lied. "Just a little pain in my back." Accepting the answer the kids rushed away as fast as they had come. She had decided not to tell the kids what happened that night with Jonathan and therefore had to keep her injury a secret. Had she told them it would have caused mass panic that she did not have the energy to deal with. _Well, at least not anyone else's mass panic, _she thought. She could barely handle her own. Sitting up slowly this time Christine gently brought her feet down to the floor and sat there gaining her equalibrium.

Tony was playing with little Mike trying to ignore Emily who was throwing balls at his head. Justin and Charlie were chasing each other with toy guns. How she managed to sleep through all of their chaos Christine could not figure out. Carefully she stood and made her way to the bathroom. By the time she came out the food cart had come bringing with it Dr. Crane. Quickly Christine grabbed her tray and retreated to the end of her bed to eat.

Jonathan noted her behavior but did not persue it. For now he was trying a new method of keeping Scarecrow at bay: avoiding Christine whenever possilbe. So far it had been working. He had been himself for two days, a fair record, but he could feel it taking a toll. Little things brought Scarecrow close to the surface and he knew that this avoidance would only hold it back so much. Eventually he would lose it at the most inopportune time and then what could he do? What would happen if Scarecrow came out while he was testifying? He refused to think that, but instead chatted with Charlie.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked. His pen was poised over the yellow notepad.

"Yep," Charlie told him. "But there was that dream again." The child's face took on a scared look and he dropped his voice to a whisper. "The one with the monster."

"You mean the scarecrow?" Jonathan asked.

"Sshhhhhh, they might hear you!" The little boy glanced around as though he expected one to jump out from under a cot.

"Right," Jonathan replied softly. "Your secret is safe with me." With that he took his leave and went to talk to Emily, the only young girl left. Sadly for her it looked like Mike would be the next to leave. After finishing his chats with all the children Jonathan cautiously made his way back to Christine.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine," she bitterly said. Rightfully so she was still very angry at him over what had happened. She vowed revenge to herself and knew she would see it through, no matter what it took. He had chosen the wrong girl to slash.

"That's good," Jonathan replied, making a note and turning away. He left quickly. Avoiding Christine made his brief encounters with her more intense. Perhaps a different strategy could be taken. Maybe if he saw her enough he could immunize Scarecrow to her and thus reduce Scarecrow's power over him in her prescence and overall. Unfortunately he doubted Christine would agree to shadow him, even if it meant she could be rid of Scarecrow. That was how much she hated him.


	7. Chapter 7

**A.N. **Well thanks again to my loyal reviewers, that would be quicksilver2402004, who I believe has reviewed all of the chapter except 5 (Bravo, award goes to you), and Blodeuedd, who does an amazing job reviewing (Thank you very much!). Here is the next chapter. I'm still not sure I like the way this story is going. I know how I want to end it I'm just having trouble getting from here to there. Well, I hope you enjoy, as always. I remain your lo-ve-lee author!

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There was an eerie silence over Arkham Asylum that morning. The whole world seemingly held its breath and watched as Dr. Jonathan Crane entered his workplace for another long day. Today was not just another day, though. Today he was going to begin testing his newest theory for keeping Scarecrow at bay: sticking by Christine. It would be a hard one, no doubt. The girl hated him with a passion and nothing he did would convince her to trust him. Nonetheless, he was getting down to his last ideas and this was the latest in a string of somewhat desperate attempts.

Upon entering the building he headed strait for his office to pick up any notices that might have filtered in during the night. There was one or two stating patients had caused disturbances but that wasn't all too unusual. Dropping his briefcase on his desk Jonathan pulled off his suit coat and pulled on a lab coat. Then, grabbing a yellow legal pad and a pen, he departed for the room housing the children.

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Christine was playing Go Fish with Emily, Tony, Justin, and Charlie. Mike had been sent home yesterday and now it was just the five of them. Before too long Christine knew she would be the only one left here in hell. As far as she knew her father had yet to fulfill any, let alone all of Crane's demands and had no plans of doing so any time soon.

That was ok, though. She had a plan, a devilish plan, one that would require flawless acting and a little cooperation on Jonathan's part. As long as he bought it hook, line, and sinker, then maybe, just maybe, Christine could get herself out of this mess. She would need to be patient. Rushing this plan would only make Crane suspicious and that was the last thing she needed.

The door opened and interrupted her thoughts. In walked Dr. Crane followed by the food cart. Giving Jonathan a weak smile Christine stood and passed out the trays. Each child took it and muttered a thank you. Sitting down with her own tray Christine did not retreat to her bed, as was her practice of late, but rather stayed and chatted with the kids. Crane took a seat on the floor between Tony and Justin, opposite Christine. He noticed her change in behavior and wondered why.

"What were you guys playing?" he asked Emily.

"Go Fish," she innocently answered. "Christine was beating all of us!" Jonathan smiled at Christine who met his eyes only a moment and then went back to eating. _Something has changed,_ he thought. _But what?_ He pondered this as he continued making small talk with the kids. Once they had all finished he watched them go back to playing. Christine stood up and walked over to where Crane was making notes.

"I'm sorry," she told him, eyes on the ground. Glancing up into his eyes she kept her hands clasped in front of her.

"For what?" he asked confused. His mind was trying to figure out just what was different about this girl.

"I shouldn't have blamed you for this," she gestured at her stomach. "It wasn't you and I know that." _Let this sound sincere,_ she pleaded with whatever god was listening.

"Oh." Jonathan was speechless. The girl looked and sounded honest but he still had reservations. "Why the sudden change of heart?" His voice held a note of sarcasm in it as though he was sure this was just a show.

"You wouldn't understand," she said looking away. Her voice was regretful and he bought it just as he should.

"Try me. Being a psychiatrist I'm sure I've heard crazier things." Jonathan's eyes were analyzing her every move and by the way she was acting he had an idea, just one.

"It's just," she paused, sighing. "I just think that I should at least forgive you of that. I feel bad for not accepting your apology. That wasn't you." Christine met his eyes and looked away again. _Please let this look real!_ she begged.

Jonathan waited before replying. _Perhaps she is being honest,_ he wondered. _But probably not. Either way with this new attitude she may be willing to help me._ With a small grin he told her of his new plan to control his other personality. Christine listened and looked interested. "So would you be willing to help?" he asked hopeful.

Christine smiled. "If it will rid me of that monster? Yes." She was happy with how honest she sounded. In reality spending more time with Crane sounded about as appealing as spending time with an angry pit viper. The only reason she went along with his little plan was because, ironically enough, it would help her little plan as well. She knew very well that Crane would try to blame more than was due on his alter ego but she could tell the difference. It was in the eyes.

"Great," Jonathan replied with little emotion. "Well I have to be making rounds so if you'll come along." Once they were in the hall he turned to her. "I hope I still don't need to warn you about running away." His voice was cordial but his meaning was clear.

"I will not run away as long as you promise not to hurt me," she told him. Her eyes met his and he saw a spark there.

"You know I can't do that."

"I said as long as you promise. I won't hold you accountable for what he does," she said, making it perfectly clear who _he_ was.

"Very well. I promise not to hurt you." He might have meant it but Christine couldn't be sure. With that settled the two walked down the hall to the elevator.

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**_The previous night _**

_Bring, bring!_ The phone sitting on the desk rang out its evil tune. The man sitting there ignored it until the last possible moment.

"Fellman," he answered gruffly. His voice had grown gravely from years of shouting.

"Mr. Fellman," the cool voice answered. "How good it is to speak with you again." Michael knew immediately who it was and why they were calling.

"What do you want, Crane?" he demanded.

"I'm not sure I like that tone," Jonathan told him with an air of authority. "Be careful lest you harm that which you hold dear."

"What do you want?" Michael repeated. He was in no mood to play mind games with the psycho today, especially when Crane still held his daughter, Christine.

"I simply wanted to show you something that might change your mind." Jonathan was grinning on the other end, thinking that perhaps the man would finally listen to his threats now that they were no longer empty. "Open your desk drawer, the bottom one on the left side." Suspicious, Michael slowly did as he was told, checking all the while for traps. Opening the drawer he nearly gasped at what he saw there but held it in, covering it with anger.

"You bastard!" he whispered in a dangerous tone.

"I thought that might change your mind," Jonathan smirked. "Are you ready to listen now?" _I have him right where I want him,_ he thought. He was wrong.

"Go to hell," Michael told him. "You will never own me or Christine." He slammed down the phone and, cursing loudly, kicked his desk. Bending over he picked up what lay in the drawer.

It was a picture, not a very good one at that. It showed a girl lying down, shirt pulled up to reveal her stomach, and on her stomach was carved the letters _SC_. Michael had no idea what that meant but he did recognize the girl. Christine.

The phone rang again and he picked it up, yelling, "What!"

There was a stunned silence before a small voice said, "He has her."

"What do you mean?" Michael was listening now and wondering what they were talking about.

"Your daughter," the voice told him. Michael sat up strait.

"Who is this?"

"Someone who knows what you're going through and what you're up against." The person on the other end was waiting for a response but when none came they continued. "If you want our help we'd be happy to meet with you."

Michael considered the words. Whoever this person was it could just be a façade, a game. They could just be messing with his head, but he was willing to risk it. "Name the place and time."

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Christine watched patiently as Dr. Crane went around to every single patient in turn. Most of the ones here now were criminals, either having escaped Arkham before or having been placed in there since. Currently Jonathan was talking to one in particular, a Mr. Ty.

"So your violent urges have decreased since taking this new medication?" he asked, pen scratching away at his note pad. The Asian man sitting across a table from him glanced at Christine, who stood in the corner of the white room.

"Oh yeah, Doc," the man replied. "I feel so calm now, no anger at all." He grinned and winked at Christine who rolled her eyes. "See, like I don't even wanna choke that bh for rolling her eyes. I'm a new man." Jonathan looked at the man with a warning look on his face, one that Christine missed because his back was to her.

"Wonderful, Mr. Ty," he told the man. "You're making great progress." Standing he walked towards the door. "I'll check back later." Crane held the door for Christine, who walked through it, and then shut and locked it behind him. "That's all for now," he told Christine, coming up level with her.

"So what next?" she wondered out loud. So far shadowing Jonathan hadn't been too terrible. He was mostly absorbed with taking notes on all of his patients, most of who would leave in a year or so for crimes such as murder, rape, torture, etc. That disgusted Christine more than anything. Crane knew these people were perfectly sane criminals who deserved to go to jail. The only thing that kept her from starting an argument with him over it was her plan. She needed him to believe she was not acting and if she burst out like that he would know without a doubt.

"Well," he said, checking his watch, "I would say it's time for lunch which means a trip to the kids." With that they headed for the elevator once more. Jonathan was very proud of himself, not too unusual a state for him. So far he had spent four hours with Christine and Scarecrow had yet to rear his ugly head. Oh he was there, just under the surface, waiting for the best moment to reappear, but for now, the girl was safe.

"And after lunch?" Christine asked.

Jonathan grinned while the doors were closing. "We shall see."


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: **Ok, yes it's been awhile. Changing time zones sucks but here I am, sitting at Las Vegas airport, waiting for a late connection, and I love you all so much that I'm posting the next chapter form here. Actually I'm jsut really bored and this is the first time in awhile that I've had time to write and post so, here you go! Enjoy

And thank you once again to all reviewers. It's so encouraging to know that someone likes what I write so... read on!

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"Christi!" shouted Emily. "I missed you!" The girl ran up to Christine as she entered the room, followed by Crane.

"I missed you, too!" She picked Emily up and swung her around in the air, eliciting squeals. The other three all wanted a turn as well so Christine obliged before grabbing the trays off of the food cart that had come in after Jonathan. She passed them out and sat down with the kids to eat.

"So what have you devils been up to?" she asked eying them each in turn.

"Nothing," Tony said coyly. The four kids burst out laughing and Christine became suspicious.

"Ok," she told them with authority. "If you fess up before I find out what you did I may not have to tickle torture all of you." The children continued laughing between bites of food and Christine just grinned.

Jonathan took a seat across from Christine and asked, "How would you like to go to the park again today?" He could tell from their giddiness that they had been cooped up for too long again. There was an outburst of "Yeahs!" so he nodded. "Ok then, we'll go after lunch." Christine glanced up at him to see a smile on his face. _That's odd,_ she thought. It looked like a genuine smile.

After all had finished lunch the kids filed out the door while Christine grabbed jackets from all of their bags. It was late fall and the days were growing colder while they sat in Arkham. She followed them out at some distance, still amazed at their enthusiasm. They truly had no idea what danger they were in. Struggling to keep her thoughts from her face, Christine came up level with Dr. Crane who also followed the children from a distance.

Noticing her look he asked, "What are you thinking about?" Feeling analyzed Christine thought it prudent to come up with an acceptable answer fast.

"It's a shame that they have to be in here," she told Jonathan with a sad tone. "They're just kids." Jonathan remembered her saying something similar when they had first met.

"Sometimes one must take actions to protect their best interests," he said, voice measured. Christine bit her tongue and glanced away to keep from arguing. If Crane noticed this he did nothing to acknowledge it.

_Stay cool,_ Christine told herself. _This has to work. Just keep up the acting and you can do this!_ "And what might your best interests be?" She cursed her lack of control but really it had saved her cover. Had she kept quiet Jonathan would have been even more suspicious.

As it was he merely glanced at her. "Mine to know and mine alone." His cool tone ended the conversation immediately. Christine quickened her pace and caught up with Charlie, the last in line of the kids.

Before long they all got into the minivan, Christine taking the front seat. Crane raised an eyebrow at her, remembering the last time they'd been in a car together and how well that had gone. She kept her gaze forward but her posture told him what he wanted to know. She sat up strait, body angled slightly towards him and right leg crossed over her left with her hands folded in her lap. It was odd, though, that he had never noticed before. _Perhaps she hid it behind the anger,_ he guessed. _Now that she is not so upset with me it shows more._

_Or,_ Scarecrow whispered,_ perhaps she is playing games with you._

_No,_ Jonathan thought. _Why would she fake that?_

_To gain your trust,_ he answered.Jonathan shook his head and concentrated on driving through Gotham traffic. It wasn't too bad considering it was the middle of the work day. Soon enough they were speeding out of the city towards the long forgotten park.

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"And you are not it," Christine sang out. Her finger had landed on Charlie's foot, leaving her to be "It." The kids had decided they wanted to play tag and had talked Christine into playing but Jonathan sat and watched, taking careful notes. He pulled his suit jacket closer against the bitter fall wind.

The children scattered as Christine gave them a small head start. She faked running as fast as she could but soon tagged Emily nonetheless. Taking off in the opposite direction Christine ran up onto the jungle gym where she was out of reach for the children. Teasing them she let her feet dangle down, pulling them up whenever "It" got too close. She watched as Justin ran up to where Dr. Crane was sitting at a picnic table.

"Come on, Dr. Jon," he pleaded. "Come and play with us." The child tugged at the hand that was holding a pen. "Please!"

"I'm busy," Crane answered slightly annoyed. "Go on and play." While Justin had distracted him Tony, the current "It," had snuck up behind Jonathan.

"You're it!" he shouted, tagging Jonathan on the shoulder. The two boys skirted back out of reach and Jonathan sighed.

"I'm not going to play today," he told them sternly, but it had no affect. Soon the other kids gathered around and taunted him. Reminded of his childhood when he had been teased to the breaking point, he stood and turned in a slow circle. _This isn't like that,_ Jonathan told himself. _They want to play, not hurt you._ "No," he repeated. "Now go play before we have to leave." His slightly harsh tone sent them sulking away, but soon enough they were laughing and running again.

"Christi," shouted Tony from below her. She looked down and saw the child jumping to tag her. He was so short it made no difference anyway. "Come down here!"

"I don't think so," she told him. "You see I like it up here. Nice and quiet like." She watched, quite amused, as Tony slowly climbed up after her. Quickly she made her way down the opposite side of the jungle gym and ran off towards the woods. She lost herself in the trees and stopping, looked around.

This place looked familiar and with a shock Christine remembered when she had been here before. _The Scarecrow!_ The shock hit her suddenly, her memories flooding back. She had been gassed and then awoke to see that gruesome face. Turning back the way she came she recalled running and being frightened by everything. Then there had been the arms around her, calming her, the scent of cinnamon. The letters carved on her stomach made sense suddenly, even as they ached from running.

_Jonathan!_ The realization stopped her breath. He had been the one who gassed her. Before she wasn't certain but now, now she had proof, at least in her mind. Her plan to escape suddenly became so much more important and vital. She needed to get away from him, the sooner, the better.

Someone was coming towards her through the trees. Instead of running, like her body was screaming at her to do, she stood her ground and watched as none other than Jonathan emerged from the trees. He looked worried, but not for the reasons a normal person would be. He thought that perhaps she had forgotten her promise not to run away.

"Are you alright?" he asked. She looked terrified, like she had seen a ghost.

"Yes," she breathed. "I'm fine. I just got lost in the woods, is all." Christine walked towards him and stopped about a foot away. "Are you ready to go?" He looked her over a moment, feeling Scarecrow close to the surface at the thought of her fear, though why she was afraid he did not know.

"Yes," he told her, locking eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked again. He knew there was something there.

"Nothing," she lied, knowing he would see through her feeble excuse. "Let's go." She brushed by him towards the way he had come figuring that was the way out. Jonathan followed at a distance, observing her movements.

_Something has her scared,_ he said.

_Yes, and I know what it is,_ Scarecrow taunted. _Would you like me to tell you?_ Jonathan sneered at the mocking voice in his head.

_By all means enlighten me._

_Didn't you recognize that place? She was there before._ The words sunk in and Jonathan slowly recalled what they meant.

_But she couldn't have remembered,_ he replied. _And even if she did she couldn't have connected me with you, Scarecrow. She doesn't know your name. _

_Do you think that would stop her? _Scarecrow asked sarcastically._ That girl is far too smart for her own good and it's going to catch up to you some day. _Jonathan tried to ignore the voice in his head, telling himself that if he even gave Scarecrow a foothold he would force his way in.

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A man stood nervously in an alley, hood pulled up. He shoved his hands into his pocket to ward off the autumn chill and glanced towards the street. When he looked back down the alley another man stood a few feet away, sizing him up. After a long while the two men walked toward each other.

"Prove to me I can trust you," came Michael Fellman's gruff voice. He stared intently at the other man who in response pulled down his hood.

"Now do you see?" The young man's voice was tight with emotion as he flashed a palmed badge.

"Geez, Walker," Michael exclaimed. "How the hell do you know about this?" He ran a hand through his messy hair and glanced up and down the deserted alley.

"He had Alice," Jack Walker replied shortly. There was a silence in which the two men simply shared a moment of grief.

"So she's back now?" It was more a statement than a question. "That's why you've been so apathetic lately. He bought you off!"

"No, it's not like that!" Jack shouted. Realizing his volume he brought his voice back to a whisper. "I had no choice. He would have hurt her." Michael appraised the younger man a moment before replying.

"I'm not blaming you," he sighed. "He's the one to blame. If only I had known sooner that I wasn't the only one in this situation then maybe I could have done something." He closed his eyes and saw the picture of Christine.

"But you can." Michael looked up, confused, and waited for Jack to go on. Jack handed him the note and in the dim light he scanned it.

"That's my girl," he grinned. For a moment he was the proudest father in the world. His little girl had stood up to Crane just like he had. "How many are still there?"

"Best I can guess is Jones, Stewart, Ashton, and Thompson. Well, and Christine."

"Have you talked to them?" Michael asked.

"No. We wanted to be sure you would help us first." Jack met Michael's eyes.

"Are you kidding? Of course I want to get my daughter out of there but if we go near the place he'll kill the kids and you know it." He sighed again. "We need a plan." The two men continued talking over a coffee at some all night diner and by the end of the night had formed an idea that just might work.

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"What is that?" Christine asked, watching Dr. Crane working on a test tube full of light blue liquid. He was used to working alone and having that girl there was very annoying. She just wouldn't stop asking questions. _Wonder why?_ Scarecrow giggled.

Jonathan ignored him and answered, "A new medication I'm working on to treat SDD." Christine nodded, not needing to ask why he would be so interested in a medicine that would treat his multiple personality. It had been a day since they had gone to the park. She glanced around the small lab he had set up in a room next to his office. The counters which lined the room had test tubes and beakers everywhere along with several machines. They must have done something important but Christine had no idea what.

Jonathan was sitting in front of a Bunsen burner over which he held the test tube full of blue liquid. It sloshed around a bit as it heated. He was looking for something, a crucial reaction that would show it was ready. Suddenly the liquid turned a pale green and he grinned. Taking the test tube in tongs he held the bottom in a beaker of ice water. After it was room temperature he stuck the tip if a syringe into the liquid and pulled until almost all of it was gone from the tube. Replacing the cover on the needle Jonathan labled it with a pen. He pocketed it and stood, turning to Christine.

"Are we done here?" she asked. While he had been working she had been glancing through the papers stacked around. Nothing there was really useful but if it had been she would have taken it for further study. All she needed was a weakness to exploit. That was why she had agreed to this ludacrous idea of following Crane around.

"Yes," Jonathan replied. "Now I need to check on the maximum security ward." He turned to look at her. "You may not want to see this." Christine took it as a dare.

"I think I can handle it," she told him. Jonathan cocked his head to the side in response but said nothing. As he walked out Christine followed him into the elevator. Inserting a key into the control panel he pressed -1 and the car started moving.

Christine glanced at him. Crane was standing perfectly strait, hands clasping a notepad in front of him. He turned to look at her and she quickly glanced away, almost blushing. _There it is again,_ he thought. He was still wondering if he should say something about it when the doors opened to reveal a glassed-in nurses station next to heavy gates. When the lady behind the desk saw Dr. Crane she buzzed open the doors. Jonathan walked in followed by a hesitant Christine.

Nothing she saw really surprised her. It was a long white hallway broken by doors with windows in them. The windows were made of bullet proof glass and the doors were slabs of steel. It was what the rooms housed that stopped her in her tracks.

The patients, more like inmates down here, were all strapped down in some way. They came to the last door and Crane opened it for Christine. She walked in and stared at what she saw there. A man, very old by the looks of it, lay curled up in the corner. He was in a full body bind and mumbled occasionally to himself.

"Hello, Marcus," Dr. Crane said, approaching the man. At the sound of his voice the man managed to sit up and gaze fearful at Crane. "How are you doing?"

"Scared, scared, scarey," the man whispered in a frightful voice.

"Why is he mumbling?" Christine asked softly. Marcus looked up at her as though he had just noticed her prescence.

"You! You come with the Scare-" he was cut off by Jonathan.

"Most of what he says is gibberish," he told Christine quickly. "Unfortunately a medication we tried stopped his screaming but induced this paranoia." After scratching something on his notepad he pointed Christine out the door. She went but the man's mumblings were still in her mind. _He was about to say Scarecrow,_ she thought. With a sickening feeling she looked at Crane as he moved on to the next room.

There they were greeted by pounding on the door before Dr. Crane even opened it. Cautiously he shouldered the door open. The moment there was enough room the frail looking girl in a strait jacket took a running start for the crack. Jonathan was ready, though. He dropped his notepad and grabbed the girl around the waist and dragged her, kicking and screaming, back towards the center of the room.

"Stay out!" he commanded Christine and she had no choice but to obey. She watched through the small window as he struggled witht the girl, trying to get answers to his questions. The fragile girl had a surprising amount of strength. She kept kicking and wailing for a good five minutes before Crane came out again. His appearence was a bit more disheveled than before and his face was shining with sweat. One look was enough to tell Christine not to ask questions.

They continued into each room with a similar reaction from most of the patients. They screamed or they were silent. They fought for their lives or they were eerily still. Christine was disturbed by all of this, but most of all by the boy in the last room they stopped in.

"You may not want to see this," Jonathan warned her before they went in.

"What's so bad about this one?" she mocked bitterly. _Suit yourself,_ Jonathan thought. He unlocked the door and stepped in.

The first thing Christine noticed was the stains on the wall. They were reddish brown and streaked the walls randomly, or so it seemed. It looked as though someone had tried to wash them off but they were too stubborn to leave. The boy in the room in a corner, back to the door. He was in a strait jacket and it looked like a muzzel.

"William," Dr. Crane said. "How are you?" The boy turned his head to look at Jonathan. His eyes were full of hatred and fear but he stood and calmly walked over to the pair standing by the now re-locked door. Dr. Crane reached out and removed the contraption from the boys mouth. Christine nearly gasped. The boys lips and chin were scarred by what appeared to be bite marks.

"The little toys march," William lisped. Apparently he had bitten off parts of his tongue because his speech was slurred and unreal. "Marching, marching, marching." He back up slowly until he was against the wall. "They march to see what becomes of the Straw." His eyes were wide and his mouth curled into a wicked smile. "They march to see the Crow. The Crow will kill us all." William collapsed into a fit of laughter and Dr. Crane shot Christine a look that said I told you so.

Christine didn't see it, though. Her eyes were locked on the boy, mind spinning. _They all mentioned the Scarecrow,_ she thought, horrified. _He did it to all of them. He made them this way. Jonathan Crane. _Only then did she glance at Crane who was placing the muzzel back onto the boy's head. Christine nearly ran out of the room when Jonathan had opened the door.

"So," Jonathan began once they were in the elevator, "do you think you can handle it?" Christine was startled out of her thoughts and took a moment to come up with a logical answer.

"Do you think this is helping?" she asked. If it wasn't then she was ready to give up on this little aid to her plan. There were other, less disturbing, ways to accomplish what needed to be done.

"In a way," he told her. "I can feel the violent side and yet since it is speaking to me all the time with you around I feel less inclined to heed it." _So in English he's saying yes,_ Christine thought. They stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hall to where the kids would be playing. "Tomorrow, then?" It was more a statement than a question because they both knew that Christine really had no choice.

"Sure," she nodded. With that she walked in and Crane left back to his office.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: **Alrighty then here you go. I almost regret to say that this will be the last chapter of this story but don't cry. It had to end sometime and I'm pleased with the way it did. It's a little open for interpretation at the end, but take a wild guess. Anyways, a last thanks to all of the people who took the time to review this story. It meant a lot. Well, I hope you enjoy the end!

On another note, RED EYE is out and it rocks. I'll soon be starting a Red Eye fanfic so, enjoy that as well.

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"How can I trust you? You sold out! You let him push you around!" The voice of the woman was angry and frustrated as she paced inside her living room with a young man.

"I was weak," he pleaded. "You're not. Look, not only will Emily be hurt but so will three other kids with parents just like you." The woman stopped pacing and looked at him.

"What do you mean?" Quickly the man explained Dr. Crane's plans to the woman who stood silent until he was finished. "Christine Fellman?" she asked, just to be sure she had heard him correctly. The man nodded. "Dear God, what is Michael doing?"

"We have a plan, but we need more help, Laura. That's where you come in. All the other parents have agreed to help and now if you do as well our plan might just work." Jack Walker sighed as he looked down. "I hope."

"But he'll kill them?" Laura Jones whispered.

"Not if he doesn't know."

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"I don't want to go home," Charlie complained to Christine as she crouched down helping him pack up his things. Apparently someone's father had finally cracked under the pressure.

"Of course you do," Christine consoled the child. "Don't you want to see your parents? I'm sure they want to see you."

"Yeah but," Charlie grabbed her in a hug, "I'll miss you." Christine couldn't help but smile at the poor kid. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight a moment before pulling back to look into his eyes.

"Don't worry," she lied. "Soon enough I'll be able to see you any time I want. Would that make you happy?"

"I s'pose," Charlie relented.

"Good," Christine told him working something from her pocket with her eyes making sure Dr. Crane had his attention elsewhere. "Now I need you to do me a big favor, can you do that?" When Charlie nodded, grinning, she leaned in and whispered to him, looking like she was still packing his stuff. Unfortunately while she was distracted Jonathan happened to glance towards Charlie and her. He noticed something white in her hand and kept his eyes discretely there. When it appeared as though she was going to slip it to him Jonathan made his way quietly over there.

"Can you do that?" Christine asked the shocked boy. He silently nodded again and she was slipping the note into his pocket when a cool hand grabbed her wrist. Her shocked eyes rose to see none other than Dr. Crane standing over them a look of question on his face.

"Would you like to share that with the class?" he asked in an unusually chilling voice even for him. Christine stood slowly in response, wrist still in Jonathan's grip but said nothing. "I thought not." With his free hand Dr. Crane made a grab for what he now recognized as a folded piece of paper Christine was holding. He had to bat away Christine's other hand but with one glare he stopped her from trying again.

While all this was going on Charlie moved away from Dr. Crane's furious figure towards the other children who were all silent and watching. None of the three made a move or a sound. They knew enough to tell when big people were fighting.

Dr. Crane released Christine's wrist and unfolded the note, quickly reading it. He pursed his lips and looked up over his glasses at Christine. Shoving it towards her he commanded, "Read it." Christine took the note but could barely breathe, let alone speak. Her insides had turned to ice the moment he grabbed her wrist and it was all she could do to keep from passing out from fear. Scarecrow knew this and was beating on Jonathan to let him out. _Patience,_ Jonathan whispered.

"Read it," Dr. Crane told Christine again. All traces of humanity were gone from his face but from the icy gaze Christine knew he was still in control. She swallowed hard, briefly closing her eyes, and let out a breath she had been holding.

"Don't hurt them," she whispered, barely audible.

Jonathan grinned wickedly at her fear, letting it wash over him in waves. Once again he glanced at the note in her hand, which hung limply at her side. "Do it," he whispered manically. Christine weakly shook her head but brought the note up to where she could see it, though her eyes never left Jonathan's.

"Sir," she whispered, reading tentatively. Stopping after that she let her hand fall again and pleaded, "Don't do this to them. If you leave the kids out of this I swear I'll do whatever you want just don't hurt them. They had nothing to do with this." Her words were so soft that Dr. Crane only just managed to understand them. He was focused on the tears welling up in her dark eyes. She held them back with a glance at the kids who were watching silently from by the bathroom door. Their faces were full of fear and confusion. "Please," she breathed. Jonathan also glanced at the children and then back at Christine.

"Very well," he said loud enough for the children to hear. "Come along." Feeling no need to drag her along Jonathan went to the door and held it open for her. Christine glanced at the kids before walking through it refusing to look at Dr. Crane. She stood in the middle of the hallway and, hearing the door close, turned to look at him. His face was unreadable as he walked past her, down the hall towards the elevator. Christine followed, shaking but still upright. Her fear would have paralyzed her if she let it.

The elevator ride was silent but instead of studying Crane for a weakness Christine merely tried not to let her tears fall. In her right hand she still clutched the note she had written to Charlie's father, so like all of the other ones. _Why did this one have to get caught? _she thought, angry.

Lost in her thoughts she was only vaguely aware of following Dr. Crane silently to his office and watching as he locked the door with an air of finality. Once she heard the click of the lock Christine snapped back to reality and stared at Jonathan even as he stared at her.

"How many other notes did you send?" he asked sternly, taking off his glasses and putting them in the front pocket of his suit jacket. When Christine didn't answer he took a threatening step towards her. "How many?"

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"Are we ready?" Fellman asked his makeshift SWAT team. The other parents nodded at him from the back of their van. One last time he checked his gun and ammo. Finding everything in place he said, "Let's go."

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Christine still didn't answer but nearly stumbled back a step. Here they stood, in the place that Scarecrow used so often, and she couldn't speak. Or she wouldn't. All Jonathan had to do was take one more step towards her and she winced, seemingly caving to his wish. "Five," she whispered.

"One for every child gone," he commented. "Impressive." Pacing around her he went to his desk and pulled open a drawer. Christine tried to see what he was rummaging around for but couldn't. Her fear was slowly waning and giving way to logic. He was distracted, or at least busy. She needed a moment to make a plan, that's all, but unfortunately she didn't even get that. Jonathan closed the drawer and pulled out what he had found, a knife, the same one Scarecrow had marked her with.

"I have been very understanding," Dr. Crane began, "of all of your whims and feeble attempts at defiance but now I find you have abused that from the very start. It's time I show you just how weak you really are." Christine stepped backwards towards the door as Crane stepped forwards, still in complete control, but not for long.

"Perhaps in your vast amount of therapy you sometime stumbled across what is commonly called repression," he told her in an eerily calm voice. "It's quite common among abuse victims or those who experience especially traumatizing experiences as children." He paused, running a hand over the knife, which lay on his desk. Its silver beauty was so like that of Christine's old knife, the one that had become her best friend for several years. She remembered gently running her hands along it as Dr. Crane did now. Christine forced her eyes back to Jonathan's and she unconsciously took another step backwards.

"I know what repression is," she replied.

"Good then. I needn't go into depth about it and we can start now." He stepped towards her but Christine held her ground this time, coming up with a plan quickly.

"Start what?"

"Tom and Jerry was on the TV, wasn't it?" The look in Jonathan's eyes was slipping into Scarecrow's and Christine prayed she could get out of this.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she whispered. Only half of her fear was fake now. A nagging feeling rose in the pit of her stomach, as though she should be remembering something just beyond her grasp.

"I wouldn't expect you to. That's what repression is all about. Forgetting." He took another step. "You were wearing that cute little outfit your mother got you for your birthday. It had an embroidered flower on the left side of the hem, you know, at the bottom of the dress." An image flashed before Christine's eyes. A girl, young, with her hair in pigtails, her long dark hair. A mother, smiling as her daughter spun around in circles. Christine's eyes then lost their glazed look and Scarecrow grinned. "You remember. She was in her long skirt with the hole in the right knees from when then two of you climbed trees in the park."

"What are you talking about?" Christine feigned. The truth was she could see her mother before her eyes now, as clear as though it was yesterday. _Why isn't this making sense? _she wondered. _I should know what he's describing. Why can't I remember? _

"Repression, Christine," Scarecrow taunted. "Daddy was late coming home. He promised you that he would be home in time for diner but the dishes were in the sink already, waiting for you to go to sleep so your mother could wash them." He stepped forward again but Christine was frozen in place. In another step he would be in front of her.

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The men and women crept silently through the darkness surrounding Arkham Asylum. Still they were outside of the main building but they had managed to sneak past the guardhouse. The man in front held up a hand to stop them at a corner as a guard with a huge dog walked to the corner of the building before turning back. They then continued on in silence, breaking off to take different entries.

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"Wasn't she brushing your hair?" He took a step and ran a hand down a lock of her silky dark hair. His own was falling out of place, partially hiding his eyes. "Mommy always told you that your hair was beautiful. Didn't she?"

"Yes," Christine breathed. She barely even noticed him there anymore. Her attention was focused somewhere deep in the past, somewhere darkness had claimed. _Focus,_ she demanded of herself.

"Her laughter was echoing through the apartment, that deep laughter, the type that comes from the pit of the soul. She always laughed like that. You always knew it was her laughing." Christine heard echoes from somewhere close and they shook her body. Scarecrow took her by the arm and she let him lead her to sit down on the couch where she collapsed into sitting. He sat next to her and continued in a gentle, soft voice.

"But she stopped laughing. Something she saw that you didn't, some sort of sixth sense. Mommy knew what was going to happen and you didn't. You had no idea." Christine bit her lip and nodded. "The door broke open and you screamed when you saw the men. Tell me about them," he coaxed.

"No, please," Christine begged in a child's voice, shaking her head. "Don't make me, please. I can't. I don't remember." A tear fell down her cheek but she ignored it, staring into space and curling up into a ball, hugging her knees.

"Yes you do. You see them now, don't you?" Scarecrow moved around and knelt in front of her. "What do you see, Christi?"

"Masks," she whispered fearfully. "Black masks and-" she broke off shaking her head again.

Scarecrow grabbed the sides of her face to stop the movement and implored her, "What do you see?"

"They had guns," she continued quietly. "And they pushed Mommy away from me." Christine's description was broken by a sob. "She tried not to cry when she told them not to hurt me. She said, 'I'll do whatever you want just don't hurt her.'" The words nearly echoed her own from earlier that night. "She never even cried out, not once." Christine's eyes were wide, staring right through Scarecrow at something only she could see. Her eye's squinted as more tears fell.

"What did they do?" Scarecrow asked, not able to keep his grin away anymore. Christine dissolved into sobs, speech no longer a possibility. "I'll tell you," he whispered gleefully. Her fear had him high and the only thing he could think about was getting more. "They took her into the bedroom and you couldn't see. One man stayed with you and told you not to make a sound. You were to scared to even cry. Them man held you close, promised not to hurt you."

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The parents flooded into Arkham, knocking out all they came in contact with. Slowly a pair found their way to a room full of children who, though scared, followed directions well.

Michael Fellman crept silent and alone through the entry hall of Arkham Asylum. He checked every room to be sure it was empty. Very slowly he was coming closer to a room labeled "Office."

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Images, sounds, feelings. All these flooded into Christine's senses even though they were nowhere around her. She closed her eyes but she still saw them. She covered her ears but still she heard.

"When they left you ran to your mother. Tell me what you saw." Scarecrow's voice was demanding and Christine, once more a child for all practical purposes, had to obey.

"I didn't understand why everything was so red. The room should have been blue and green but everywhere I looked it was red, bright sticky red. I never realized that a color shouldn't be sticky or smell so metallic."

"Was she dead?" Scarecrow asked eagerly. Christine once more bit her lip but nodded, bursting into sobs. Almost caring Scarecrow took her into his arms as sob after sob escaped her lips.

"She left me alone," Christine cried, trying to distract the good doctor as she put her plans into motion. Her right hand, which had been tightly wrapped around her knees, was gently working Jonathan's glasses out of his pocket.

"And scared," Scarecrow filled in. Christine had the glasses out and open. With a loud sob and a push she broke one of the lenses and grabbed a bit of sharp glass. Scarecrow never saw it coming because her body rocked with the sobs. Besides that he was completely absorbed in her fear and thought she was mentally broken.

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At that moment Michael stood outside the door labeled "Office and listened inside of any signs of life before he would enter. His gun was held at the ready.

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"Not anymore," Christine whispered. With quick motions she stabbed the glass into the side of his throat and jumped away from him.

"You bitch," he cried out. Blood was pouring from his severed jugular artery and he pressed his fingers into it to stem the flow. Christine ran towards the door and banged on it to open it.

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Michael heard the banging and stepped back. "Who's there?" he called out.

"Daddy!" he heard an all too familiar voice answer.

"Christine," he yelled. "Get back!"

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Christine stepped back from the door and into the waiting grasp of Jonathan Crane who pressed the knife from his desk hard against her throat. She gasped and screamed out as the door burst open to reveal her father in full cop getup. He had his gun pointed at Crane and cursed loudly.

"Don't move," Crane demanded, "or I will slit her throat." Michael stopped walking forward but kept his gun-aimed level with Crane's head.

"Daddy shoot him," Christine whispered trying not to cut her own throat by talking.

"I wouldn't be talking if I were you, Christi," he whispered in her ear, eyes on Michael. "I'm very disappointed with your actions and it would be a small matter now for me to kill you. You are only alive for bargaining."

"Let her go," Michael said, not pleading at all. "This is between you and me." Crane laughed.

"Put the gun down, Fellman. Your brilliant daughter just stabbed me in the neck making herself a part of this situation we find ourselves in." His voice was taunting but a desperate look was forming on his face. _I'm losing too much blood to stay conscious,_ he thought.

Michael bent down and placed the gun on the floor between them. He looked into his baby girl's eyes and saw what he always did, a smart girl. Her face was calm and he couldn't figure out why. It was as though she was trying to tell him something without speaking.

Christine wasn't as worried as she should have been. Her aim had been true, as Crane's pulsing wound told her. She had perforated Crane's jugular artery and in moments he should be unconscious from the blood loss. Her eyes pleaded with her dad to understand.

"Move," Jonathan told Michael. He obeyed and stepped out of the doorway allowing Crane to drag his protection along with him into the hallway. Unfortunately he miscalculated and felt something hard connect with his skull. "Shit," he said as he passed out.

Christine ran to her father, who grinned over her shoulder at Jack who had knocked Crane out, and they embraced a long time as she let out the tears she'd held back for far too long. "It's ok," he whispered in her ear as he held her close. "I'm so sorry."

Pulling back Christine looked into his eyes. "Why?"

"This is all my fault. I should have never put you in this position." Tears were now filling Michael's eyes as well. "Just my stupid pride."

"Don't talk like that," she told him smiling. "If you hadn't Crane would have gone on unhindered and threatened someone else. Now he can't." The last line was said with a sigh of contentment as they embraced.

"I'm so proud of you, Christi," Michael whispered. "I love you so much."

Through the tears Christine laughed. "I love you to, Dad."


End file.
